


A Breach of Protocol

by irene_heron (vysila)



Series: From a Certain Point of View [1]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, First Kiss, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Post-Return of the Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vysila/pseuds/irene_heron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Luke and Lando's diplomatic mission to help a system get back on its feet after Imperial occupation is complicated, both personally and professionally, when Han shows up.</i><br/>Written January 2000, originally appeared in "Elusive Lover IV", 2000.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Breach of Protocol

By the time the unexpected presence fully registered, Lando Calrissian was already more than halfway through the door. Too far off balance to do anything other than stand helplessly, his stomach tied into more knots than a Gungan’s speech, clutching his datapad in one hand and the door frame with the other, and stare at the business end of a blaster pointed directly at his head. His holdout blaster might as well have been on Tatooine for all the good it would do him under these circumstances.

“Getting soft, Lando.”

He’d been thinking exactly the same thing. Too damned slow and soft by half. All this diplomacy and respectability had blunted some of his instincts dangerously. That it was very late and he was exhausted was no excuse.

The security guard was a few fatal seconds too far down the corridor; he’d yawned a sleepy greeting when Lando passed him. Lando eased into the room at the intruder’s slight gesture and let the door swing shut behind him.

“You fire off that thing, and my escort’ll be here within seconds.”

The man sprawled across the white nerf-leather divan chuckled and lowered the blaster.

“Maybe so, but you’d be dead.”

Han Solo tucked his blaster back into its holster and Lando glared at him balefully. At least this answered the question that’d been living in the back of his mind for weeks now: were Han and Chewie among the opportunists working this system? 

“At least I’d have the satisfaction of knowing you’d follow in short order, Han.” He stalked over to the drink synthesizer to give the adrenaline a chance to flush out of his system and punched buttons at random, still too shaken to care what he received in return. Blasted Corellian sense of drama.

The diversion gave him time to calculate a few variables. He surreptitiously touched the tiny blaster in its wrist holster, reassuring himself it was there if need be.

He supposed he was lucky it had been Han and not some other angry smuggler who’d managed to circumvent Pontradan security. He could trust Han not to shoot him without a damned good reason—he just didn’t know yet if the Corellian had a good reason. And even if he did, he’d never shoot a man in the back.

The summit committee was very close to reaching consensus on a system-wide Trade Accord, and that signaled the end of some very profitable contraband opportunities. The Pontradans hadn’t come this close to an agreement in two years—even a pirate could make the connection over who was to blame for the sudden progress. Made sense that the New Republic’s delegates would be a tempting target for reprisals. 

“You here on behalf of the disgruntled smugglers’ association?” He tossed back the amber colored liquid the processor dispensed, and let the warmth ignite in his belly.

“Just delivering a friendly warning, Lando.”

“I’m a target.” Well, he wasn’t surprised; it was why he had an escort assigned to him wherever he went. Han had deliberately gone out of his way to remind Lando of his vulnerability despite the stringent security measures.

“It’s played out here, Lando. Chewie ‘n me’re movin’ on. So are most of the others, but there’s a few sore losers. Just keep your eyes open and your hands free.” Han gazed pointedly at Lando’s right arm. “That holdout blaster might do you some good then.”

Yeah, same old Han. He’d taken quite a risk, coming here like this, to warn him. Lando felt a surge of affection for the man. 

“So tell me something I don’t know.” Two more drinks splashed into cups. He handed one cup to Han and took a moment to study the other man carefully. Although Han managed to look somehow loose-limbed and alert at the same time, Lando noted subtle evidence of exhaustion and discontent in the shadowed hollows at cheek and eye, and in the way the bones of his skull showed through the flesh. He looked—not precisely ill, but as though some deep regret was wearing away at his conscience. Maybe it was guilt over walking out on all his friends the way he’d done. Served him right in that case.

He hoped it didn’t have anything to do with Chewbacca. He’d grown rather fond of the big Wookiee.

“You look like hell,” Lando said pleasantly, just to gauge the reaction.

Han grinned, although his eyes remained watchful. “Nice of you to say so.” The Corellian wasn’t giving away any clues, wearing his privacy the way Vader had worn armor. 

The Corellian’s silence reduced Lando to asking, “Chewie doing all right?”

“Chewie’s fine. Says hello. An’ in case you’re thinking about sending the law after us, the _Falcon’s_ still the fastest hunk of junk in this, or any other, system.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Han.” And he wouldn’t. Whatever Han’d been doing, it certainly wasn’t enough to deserve the Pontradan’s uncompromising justice. 

Han nodded toward the flickering holodisplay, the announcer’s droning voice reducing the day’s events to their basic elements of ego and compromise. “You’re all over the local news grids. You ‘n Luke.” 

Hell yes, they were all over the local grids. From the moment he and Luke had arrived on Pont Gollo, rumor and innuendo had circled them like carnivores scouting potential prey for an unprotected flank. He’d nearly choked on his kaffin that first morning, listening to the news grids and discovering that local speculation had already paired them up as lovers. 

_Lovers, my afterburners._ The suggestion would have amused or flattered Lando had it involved anyone other than Luke. Han, for instance—they could’ve both laughed over that one, played the absurd situation for all it was worth and turned it to their advantage. Not Luke, though. There was something frightening and personal in the way so many people projected their fantasies of power and glory onto Luke; the greedy possessiveness bothered Lando in a fundamental fashion.

Perhaps it was because he had done virtually the same thing, to serve his own purposes. Although he’d obviously succeeded in presenting a public fiction of a close friendship with Luke, he knew the closeness to be precisely that… fictional. They were neither friends nor strangers, their relationship hovering on the edge of an ill-defined cordiality. To have others interpret their relationship as anything more only underscored the actual deficiencies.

Luke deliberately cultivated the distance between them for reasons of his own. At first he’d simply assumed it was a result of the Force in Luke; the Jedi of old had been infamous for their detachment from non-Force users. But Luke held others close, Leia and Han especially, not that Han deserved Luke’s affection after abandoning them all the way he had, and Lando had finally been forced to acknowledge that the root cause for Luke’s reserve was individual and specific.

The only thing he could come up with was Bespin—and it still made no sense, like he was missing too many pieces of the puzzle to ever discover the correct pattern.

Well, Bespin hadn’t been his fault, and he’d done more than most would have tried in his place, damnit! Defied Vader, of all people; risked his own neck and the lives of his loyal staffers to argue face to… mask with the man—all for a friend he’d not seen in years. He hadn’t been able to protect his business or his city, or the people who depended on him for their livelihood, but he’d saved Leia and Chewie at least. Cynics had noted he’d also managed to save himself, but how many had challenged Vader and lived to talk about it? He knew of only one other… 

His interest had been piqued even before he pulled the wounded, shivering youth through the Falcon’s emergency hatch during that insane rescue underneath Cloud City. He’d wondered who this Skywalker fellow was and why he was so important to Vader, predisposed to dislike and resent the cause of so much betrayal and suffering. Given the choice, he would not have returned, preferring instead safe retreat with his burden of guilt, protecting those he had already injured.

He had been shocked to discover Skywalker was just a boy, a small, fragile physical vessel containing possibly the most vibrant presence he had ever encountered.

They’d spoken not at all during the voyage in the Falcon, Skywalker confined mostly to the medical bunk with Leia hovering solicitously over him, while Lando had been unnerved as Chewbacca hovered most unsolicitously over him. Luke had been of little interest to him then. His concern had been with proving his trustworthiness—to Han, to Chewbacca, to the princess, and to himself.

Nearly three years since the day Luke had, almost literally, dropped into his lap. As far as Lando was concerned, he’d proven himself more than enough by now. He’d openly defied the Empire and lost everything he’d worked so hard to achieve; he’d thrown in with the Alliance, distinguished himself in battle and served the second Death Star up on a platter. Even after resigning his commission he’d stayed on, willingly serving the New Republic in a capacity more suited to his particular talents—unlike Han, who’d taken off like he had a comet tied to his tail. So why did Luke’s tacit disapproval make him feel like he hadn’t paid his dues yet?

“Anyway, just be careful,” Han said. “Don’t trust anybody. There’s something not right here.”

“I thought ambiguous lines like that were Luke’s specialty.”

Han made a rude noise and grinned. “Who you callin’ ambiguous? You’re the politician.”

The comment sparked a connection in Lando’s brain. “Speaking of politicians, you got any message for Leia?”

Han’s abruptly icy expression cautioned Lando to drop the subject. “Just offering a word to the wise. You still in that category?”

Oh, great. A grumpy smuggler. With a grievance, a blaster and good aim. Lando chose to lighten the mood by mocking himself. “Well, I got my Jedi to protect me.”

“Very funny.” 

Han’s tone of voice was perfectly sarcastic, his expression exactly the correct blend of cynicism and casual amusement—but Lando hadn’t spent years at the sabacc tables for nothing. Whether it was curse or blessing, he had the gift of reading people. And all of a sudden Han was giving off some kind of signal…

“It works for me.” 

“Tell _him_ to be careful, too. Even Jedi make mistakes.”

Nope. Whatever had changed in Han’s demeanor, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet. It would come to him, though, if he let his subconscious work on it for a while. 

“Tell him yourself. He’ll be back soon.”

Han raked his left hand through his hair. Now that Lando thought about it, the Corellian’s hair looked like he’d been doing that a lot lately, and that surprised Lando. Han wasn’t given to nervous gestures of any sort. The uptight action triggered a warning shiver in Lando’s muscles.

Uneasy in a way he hadn’t been before, his mind drifted to thoughts of explosive devices, poisons, bribery and supposedly loyal (though underpaid) employees. Unconsciously he shrugged his shoulders, trying to dislodge the sudden itch between his shoulder blades. 

“Nah. I’ve been here too long as it is.” Han rose to his feet with the confident ease and physical grace that had always been both consequence and source of his self-sufficiency. Lando noted his boots had left a greasy stain on the white leather divan—he’d have to make that right with his hosts before departure. How should he note that on his expense report? Consulting Fee? Research Assistant? Entertainment?

Han jerked his head in the direction of the holo player. “How long you ‘n Luke… ?”

So Han thought there might be some truth to the rumor? Just went to show how long he’d been away, if he’d forgotten the titillation factor in gossip. Lando decided to have a little selfish fun at Han’s expense, to pay him back for that irritating sensation of having a target pinned to his back. 

He shrugged. “Well, you know how these things happen. We’ve worked together quite a bit on various diplomatic efforts in the past year. Late night sessions, long flights together…”

Gods, if only he had one of those mini-imagers right now, to capture Han’s expression. Probably thought Lando wasn’t good enough for Luke. Yeah, that was it. Han was funny that way—he’d always been protective of Luke, treated him like a kid brother. Well, Lando Calrissian hadn’t been the one who’d left hurt feelings in his jet trails, and if it was just a little uncomfortable for Han to admit his mistakes, or regret he no longer had a say in his friends’ lives, then that was his problem.

When Han rubbed the scar on his chin, a gesture Lando’d not seen in years, he focused on that little voice in the back of his mind trying to tell him something, something that simply refused to coalesce for him.

Certain things began to make a little more sense to Lando. Every detail of their daily schedule was relentlessly publicized: that Han would choose the one time to break into their hotel suite when Luke’s absence was guaranteed suddenly seemed significant. _He’s too embarrassed to see Luke._

He couldn’t resist playing on Han’s discomfort. “Yeah, I guess we’re getting used to taking care of each other by now.”

Han mumbled something, moved to the door and was gone. Lando listened carefully, but the guard never raised an alarm. Probably snoring by now anyway. Fat lot of protection he’d been.

If Lando didn’t know better, he’d almost say that last expression on Han’s face had been jealousy—but that didn’t make any sense at all. And what was that Han had muttered as he left? _Yeah, well, don’t go getting too used to taking care of each other._ What was that supposed to mean? Further indication of their immediate danger or something else? One more thing for his subconscious to chew on, he guessed.

Lando glanced across at the datapad he’d tossed on the table, stretched and checked the chrono. He had an hour before Luke and the droids would return; plenty of time to have another drink or two and take a long hot shower before they settled down to work on the latest version of the proposal. He did some of his best thinking in the shower anyway.

It wasn’t until he’d taken a long pull from his third drink that it occurred to him Han’s reluctance to discuss Leia might have greater significance than the obvious reasons. By the fourth drink he was wondering if he and Han had more in common than he’d thought. Maybe they both wanted more from Luke than the younger man could give. 

Totally ridiculous. Of course it was. Perhaps it was the drink on top of the shock, but the half-formed idea took shape quickly, and it made more and more sense by the second. It explained everything—why Han Solo, the man who never ran from anything, had run like the demons of all hells were after him; why Han looked worn and frayed and why he’d stayed away for the better part of a year. His theory explained Han’s expressions and puzzling comments, his jealousy and concern; and why he’d chosen this moment to reappear. It even explained why he hadn’t wanted to talk about Leia.

Had the evidence been there all the time, and he’d simply never noticed? Lando shuffled his memories like a deck of cards, searching for skifters—the ones that transformed before your eyes until the entire nature of the game had altered beyond recognition. He found them.

_Endor: The wind had shifted, blowing smoke from the wood fire into his eyes, so he’d moved. And saw Han Solo not far away, holding Leia close. It would have been ideally romantic, except that Han was paying absolutely no attention to Leia at all. He was half turned, studying Luke intently, and the expression on his face clearly spoke of concern and affection._

_Varalg: They’d been enjoying a leisurely lunch at one of the open-air cafes in the city center plaza, waiting for Han to join them. When he’d arrived, Leia had indicated the empty seat next to her, saved for him of course, but Han grinned and moved the chair to a spot next to Luke, citing better line of sight and less exposure. They’d all been forced to adjust their places accordingly and Leia had frowned briefly._

_Corellia: Only weeks before the breakup they’d attended a diplomatic function. Leia had spent the entire evening introducing Luke to suitable females—the daughters of diplomats, Noble Houses and wealthy industrialists—and after each introduction Han had found fault with each female, strongly proclaiming none of them were worthy. As if anyone really expected Luke to show interest in the parade of available women anyway, Lando had thought at the time. And then Han had thrown his arm around Luke’s shoulders and enticed him out into the gardens, where they finished the evening laughing and talking to each other._

Of course, every one of those incidents could be perfectly straightforward, too. 

He wondered if Leia shared his suspicions, if this had been the reason for their parting. In light of his new theory, Lando felt rather ashamed of himself for viewing Han and Leia’s breakup as a renewed challenge to romance Leia.

Damned if this didn’t prove once and for all that the universe had an ironic sense of humor. Han had what Lando wanted from Luke—genuine friendship and open trust; and Lando had at least the illusion of what Han wanted. Somehow, Lando had the feeling that neither of them would end up getting what they wanted.

As far as he could tell, Luke focused all his energies on spiritual development and his responsibilities as a Jedi and was entirely removed from the demands of his physical self. Close observation in their shared quarters had revealed Luke required little food, less sleep, spent much of his free time meditating or performing arcane lightsaber drills, and had apparently sublimated his sexual drive into oblivion.

If what Han wanted from Luke Skywalker was something deeper than friendship, he wouldn’t get it, that was for sure.

Lando could even afford to feel sorry for Han, and _that_ made him feel much better about his own situation.

* * * * *

One quick sidelong glance confirmed what Lando’s intuition had been telling him for a while. Daylight had fled from the windows, replaced by the harsh, artificial glare of a technologically dependent community. He shifted his shoulders, trying to release some of the accumulated tension. What he thought of as ‘Han’s Itch’ had been between his shoulder blades the entire day, wearing away at his negligible reserves of adrenaline even faster than the tedious hours of debate and argument.

He’d double-checked his holdout blaster and practiced his fast draw last night. Lando placed a very high value on his own skin—intact.

“We are all in agreement, then.” It wasn’t a question. Elder Cleres Nysos of Pont Gollo colony stood at the head of the table. Although Lando didn’t particularly like the man on a personal level, he recognized the necessity for someone like Cleres in every political hierarchy; his clear vision of the system’s future, as well as his tenacious and aggressive nature, refused to tolerate stagnation. He’d been the moving force behind the original talks and had been the one to petition hardest for Republic intervention. Without a Cleres to force the issue of a unified trade policy, Lando had no doubt the situation would have degenerated deeply into anarchy by now. 

He would’ve sworn the Pontradan native was practically swaying with fatigue, but Cleres’ voice was strong and commanding, and his gaze squarely met the eyes of each individual in turn. Lando felt the power and challenge in that glance—no doubt about what kind of results this fellow expected. 

The outlined proposal was fair to all parties and Lando had talked himself hoarse on the plan. He and Luke had spent several hours the previous night working up alternative solutions to the last major hurdle. Acceptance seemed likely, but the Pontradans had been arguing these matters without resolution for two years; Lando reminded himself not to lose heart if this proposal didn’t take. After all, they’d only been at this summit for six weeks—not long for this sort of thing. Success would only be a matter of time. He knew he was good in face-to-face interactions with people, had learned through the years to gauge and use minute reactions of expression and body language to fine tune his approach, and he had confidence in those unique abilities. They’d served him well at the gaming tables and in running Cloud City. His faith in his talents was one of the reasons he’d resigned his general’s commission shortly after Endor and accepted this somewhat loosely defined trade liaison position for the New Republic.

Thoughtlessly, Lando raised a hand to the back of his neck and glanced toward Luke, seated slightly to his left and across from him at the conference table. He wondered what Luke truly thought of Han’s brief reappearance. Although he’d immediately mentioned Han’s brief visit and warning to Luke, of course he’d kept his more speculative thoughts to himself. He’d been rewarded with a glimpse of intense emotion too quickly controlled to identify before Luke made a wry comment about mysterious informants with a talent for stating the obvious. And that had been it, except for Luke’s admission that he, too, had the sense of heightened danger, for as yet undetermined reasons.

He’d taken the news as calmly and dispassionately as Lando had expected, but now that he’d had a little more time to reflect on the matter, that reaction seemed strange. After all, Han and Luke had been close friends up until Han pulled his disappearing act—he had every reason to be angry over Han’s callous behavior, or admit he’d missed the guy. Seemed to Lando that Luke had learned all too well to detach himself from his immediate feelings, to take the heat out of them.

Right now, though, the Jedi’s expression and body language radiated confidence in the compromise before them; it was a nice show of support. Not a hint of doubt or apprehension flickered, as though Luke was entirely convinced they had found the ideal solution. Lando dropped his hand and straightened his posture, embarrassed he had permitted exhaustion and frustration to override the basic rule of bargaining—never show weakness. After all, certain delegates, particularly Onlew Ney of Pont Datar and Rium Gile from Pont Kes, had taken their direction from the New Republic representatives. It wouldn’t do to give them a false bearing this time, not with Muya Sadika of Pont Sen doing her best to derail each and every suggestion. This was a good proposal, even if it had been mostly his own effort, and quite frankly, he felt they were running out of suitable options.

In the meantime, the smugglers were growing wealthy and the colonies were growing poor as a result of the Pontradan leaders’ squabbling. By all the Sacred Ones, Pontradans were almost as stubborn as Corellians! In-system history and politics had everything to do with that—the Separatists vigorously defended each colony’s sovereignty, while the Consolidationists pushed for system-wide unity. Lando was confident that Cleres and Muya occupied opposite ends of that particular scale.

“Since there is no further discussion, we will now read and vote on the proposal before us.” Cleres nodded toward Threepio. The Pontradans had their own droids, of course, but they had wasted two days arguing over programming biases before Luke had offered Threepio as a neutral facilitator. That was when Lando had realized these folks were pretty damned paranoid. From behind Luke Artoo wheedled what sounded like encouragement to his counterpart, and Lando was positive both droids were more than a little pleased to find themselves the center of attention.

Leia had recommended the protocol droid accompany them, and Lando had been delighted to accept the offer. Artoo was present for no apparent reason Lando could find, other than Luke’s preference. They’d traveled in comfort aboard his newly purchased yacht, _Lady Luck,_ so had no need for an astromech droid, but Luke claimed Artoo always came in handy. Although Lando didn’t mistrust droids to the same extent Han did, he wasn’t entirely comfortable around most of them, either. 

The bronze droid droning through his proposal for what was hopefully the last time was one of two exceptions to that rule. Threepio and Artoo were as individualistic as any organic being; he’d learned to appreciate their talents early on and rather enjoyed their company.

Under cover of an outwardly attentive attitude, Lando amused himself with a brief survey of expressions and body language, mentally classifying each potential response, entirely confident of his assessments. Until he reached Luke.

For all his instincts and finely honed observation skills, Luke remained a mystery to him. So controlled, so vigilant… That oddly disinterested reaction to Han’s brief appearance had taken hold in Lando’s subconscious, and a desire to unravel the workings of Luke’s mind had grown on him, perverse impulse though it might be.

 _I’m gonna figure out what it is that drives you before we leave this planet,_ he vowed to himself.

And with that silent promise, he was able to subdue his errant musings when Threepio called for the oral vote.

There were fifteen delegates present; as non-voting mediators Lando and Luke could only wait for the results. Lando felt tension seize his neck again and resisted the urge to rub it away. This summit looked to turn into a semi-permanent employment, and much as he’d enjoyed the time spent with Luke, he did have a life on Corellia and was eager to return to it.

The proposition passed. Unanimously, although from the expression on Sadika’s face her approval had been grudgingly accorded. Sometimes it was just plain handy to have a domineering autocrat like Cleres in charge of things. Lando barely managed to soften his whoop of triumph into something more befitting a diplomatic occasion and his smile stretched his cheek muscles painfully. He felt giddy with accomplishment, the way he had when he’d won his first major sabacc tournament against more experienced opponents. 

Even though the room immediately erupted into a buzz of excited conversation, he had no trouble hearing Luke.

“You do realize this’ll be a tough act to top? The Council’s only gonna hand you impossible jobs from now on.”

“Maybe we just won’t let ‘em know, in that case.”

“Kind of hard not to, don’t you think?” 

Lando decided his own smile must have been contagious, because he hadn’t seen a grin like that on Luke’s face in a very long time. “Nah. Between a Jedi and a gambler I figure scamming’s our specialty.” Truth to tell, he’d often thought if circumstances had been different and he’d met Luke a few years earlier, they’d be the team to beat on the circuits.

“Is that a dare… or an offer?” 

“Whichever you’re more likely to accept.”

Luke laughed.

“Hey, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity!” He pretended offense, but was pleased to have made Luke laugh.

Luke shook his head, the smile fading as he lifted an eyebrow at him. “So, what’s the next step?”

“A press conference to announce the delegates’ agreement, Master Luke.” Lando had been aware of Threepio coming up beside him, his senses preternaturally alert ever since Han’s visit. Was this what it was like for Luke, to be aware of every draft of air and subtle sound, magnified almost beyond endurance?

Lando winced, and then chuckled to see a similar expression mirrored on Luke’s face.

“When, Threepio?” 

“Almost immediately, Master Lando. I have been informed quite a crowd has been gathering throughout the day in anticipation of such an announcement. Elder Cleres will make a statement.”

“Maybe we can slip out the back door while he’s making speeches,” he grumbled softly, and then smiled sheepishly as he caught Luke’s eye. 

“Oh, dear me, no! That would be a dreadful breach of protocol!” Threepio sounded both resigned and affronted at Lando’s suggestion. 

“Just where is this to take place?” This time he did rub his neck, mostly because he couldn’t shake that premonitory tickle. 

“In the Forecourt of this building.” Cleres approached them on Luke’s side of the table.

The Forecourt. Right now, Lando couldn’t imagine a more convenient setting for vengeful smugglers to take advantage of. A quick glance at Luke’s frowning, thoughtful expression warned him their minds were working alike. 

“Elder Cleres, perhaps it would be more prudent for you to speak from a less… vulnerable location,” Luke suggested gently.

Cleres looked sharply at Luke. “You are fearful for my safety? As Jedi, are you aware of something beyond vague rumors of angry pirates?” 

For a moment Lando thought Luke was tempted to reveal Han’s nocturnal visit, but then Luke shook his head in the negative gesture their cultures had in common.

“In that case, I appreciate your concern, Jedi Skywalker, but without a specific reason to assume otherwise, I will follow our usual custom in these matters and trust that our security measures are adequate. But if the matter of your own safety concerns you, perhaps you would prefer not to accompany myself and the other delegates?”

Lando frowned. Cleres’ abrupt manner wasn’t the most tactful he’d ever encountered, but that last comment was contentious even for him. He wondered why Cleres felt the need for such an unnecessary power play at this moment, especially with Luke. He’d seen the Elder pull similar tricks with various delegates, most notably the intractable Sadika, but he’d not tried to bluff either Luke or Lando. Until now. Definitely something to keep in mind. 

Luke remained unimpressed by the games playing. “Our safety is unimportant, Elder.”

_Thanks a lot, Luke. My personal safety is very important to me. And so is yours._

“We’re concerned about your safety, and that of the other delegates. I’m not questioning your decision to make a statement, just the venue. Wouldn’t a less exposed location work as well?”

“It would not. That is not our way. We speak to our citizens directly. But we do not require you abide by the same customs if you feel this ignores your safety.”

Damn. Wilful misunderstanding and repeated insult. 

“Security is well in hand, I promise you. You will be as safe as if you were in your hotel suite.”

Wonderful. Lando considered mentioning that he wasn’t particularly reassured by that guarantee or the intentional and unwarranted maneuverings. Nor could he let Luke take the heat for this objection, not when his misgivings were as strong. Time for the senior New Republic representative to make an executive decision. Not that there was a choice anyway.

“Of course we’ll participate,” Lando agreed.

“Excellent! You, protocol droid! I require your assistance.” Cleres commanded Threepio’s attention and they walked over to the door, discussing details of the proper sequence of events for the announcement.

“Did you see that one coming?” Luke smiled ruefully at him.

“Well, Cleres isn’t exactly noted for his patience and tact. Let’s say I’m not surprised he’d pull a trick like that. Just surprised by the timing and the target.” That damned itch was back again, stronger than ever. “You… ah, you have any instincts about this?”

Luke cleared his throat. “Instincts? Other than this means trouble?”

“I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

* * * * *

The room slowly cleared as the delegates dispersed. Cleres and his aides had left en masse, Threepio and Artoo in tow, to arrange for the public announcement.

Now only Luke and he remained, listening to the last echoes of retreating footsteps fade away, neither of them with pressing tasks or obligations. Victors of an abandoned battlefield, rendered superfluous by their very achievement.

In Lando’s imagination, the silent chamber, clothed in granite floors and faded tapestries, took on the aspect of a mausoleum, with he and Luke the sole attending mourners. Lando shook his head to clear it of the morbid, bizarre impression. _Just the adrenaline let-down,_ he reminded himself.

“Looks like we’ve outlived our usefulness here,” Luke said softly, glancing around the room and perhaps reacting to the same melancholic ambiance.

"Speak for yourself,” he shot back unthinkingly, and then barely caught himself from apologizing for the thoughtless remark.

Luke just shook his head, smiled and responded to the unsettled mood, not the words. “Leia told me once that the aftermath of success can be emotionally devastating. More painful than failure sometimes. And that the more successful she was, the worse she felt afterwards. From the look on your face I’d say you were very successful.” Luke tapped his fingers on the datapad on the table before him. “Not that I had any doubts you’d be successful.”

He couldn’t help the flush of pride, and the obscure sense of gratitude that had nothing to do with his accomplishments at the bargaining table and everything with Luke’s vocal appreciation. 

Vaguely uncomfortable with this unsuspected insight, he instinctively resorted to humor to mask deeper sentiments. “This was a joint effort. I refuse to take all the blame.”

Luke lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. “Don’t blame _me_! It was your idea to have me come along.”

And a damned fine idea it had been, too. Luke’s presence had unlocked the stalemated discussions, got the delegates talking instead of shouting, and reassured the Pontradans of their importance to the New Republic. 

He just wished he could absolve himself from guilt over using Luke-the-Jedi as a tool to further his own career. 

The light-hearted moment almost foundered before he found the proper comeback. “All right, we’ll blame the droids instead.”

Pitiful attempt though it was, Luke rewarded the levity with a small grin, his briefly unguarded expression calling to mind the boy Lando had first met. Sadly, the youth he’d helped rescue at Cloud City had disappeared over a period of months; the composed, serene man sitting across from him now was more Jedi than man, to be honest.

He’d missed some of the transformation, of course, as he’d immediately been placed under arrest once they rendezvoused with the balance of the Alliance fleet. That Leia, Chewie and even Luke had intervened on his behalf, citing extenuating circumstances, certainly had helped, though. That was when he’d first learned Luke was a potential Jedi.

The idea had intrigued him, and for the first time he’d understood just why Vader wanted Luke. A Jedi, the first Jedi in an entire generation… some fluke of genetics thrown up by an uncaring universe. Lando had managed to spend a little time with Luke during those months immediately following Bespin; not all that much, but enough to see the almost daily changes. He’d never learned what it was Luke wrestled with in his mind, what kind of poisoned lies the Dark Lord had told him, but it had been obvious the damage went beyond the physical. What was worse, few had seemed to particularly care. 

“Hey, you still with me, Lando?”

Embarrassed to be caught daydreaming, he took refuge in simple misdirection. Never show any weakness was a rule he’d lived by too long to abandon now… especially now. “I was considering my official remarks for the announcement.”

“Naturally.” Luke’s unblinking acceptance of the deception suggested his attempt had failed. “I said, shouldn’t you contact Leia to let her know the outcome?”

This precious moment of privacy suspended between the rush of events felt too valuable to waste. “There’s no hurry. I’ll wait until after the press conference, and make the call from the hotel.”

Lando debated briefly with his conscience. “When I talk to Leia, I’ll mention Han’s reappearance to her. I think she’d like to know that at least he and Chewie are all right. Don’t you?”

Confirmation and reassurance was the last thing on his mind, but for all he could see, Luke’s only reaction to the question was a slight hitch in his breathing. 

_And what about you, Luke? Are you relieved, too? That day you found out Han’d left without a word, you looked like you’d been ripped apart by a Vegalan tiger. But now… now it’s like you can barely remember his name._

Lando wanted to breach that façade—for surely it was only a façade—of emotional disengagement and discover the man still living inside the Jedi.

Pushing for clarification might ruin what little familiarity already existed between them, but curiosity had long been his driving demon. He consoled himself that Luke’s suppression of genuine feelings couldn’t be healthy, and hoped he wasn’t setting their relationship on a self-destruct countdown.

Not that there’s much to self-destruct anyway. 

The bitter thought surfaced simultaneously with Luke’s deliberately bland, controlled response.

“You do that. I’m sure she’d be relieved to hear the good news.”

Lando hesitated, then plunged ahead, determined to flush out some resemblance of an unshielded response and knowing subtlety wouldn’t carry the day. _What the hell, in for a credit, in for the pot._ “Or maybe you’d rather do that yourself?”

Was that a quickly subdued flash of irritation he saw in Luke’s eyes? The Jedi shifted his position fractionally, too small an adjustment to be called a squirm—but Lando received an overall impression that he was uncomfortable with the suggestion.

“I wasn’t the one who talked to him,” Luke pointed out.

“True, but… ” In the face of Luke’s rationality he strove for words that might sound more like logical reasoning and not like terminal curiosity.

“Are you asking what I think about Han’s reappearance?” Luke’s expression and voice remained firmly neutral, almost uninterested. Way too neutral to be anything other than artificially imposed.

_No, I’m really asking how you feel about it, but I’ll settle for what you think, because there’s no hope in hell you’ll let me in on your feelings._

A trifle embarrassed to be caught in his transparent effort, Lando mustered a grin. “I suppose I am. It was quite a shock to me, and I can’t help but think it was for you, too. Could’ve knocked me over with a plume when I opened that door and there he was…”

Luke’s small smile showed a kernel of genuine affection. “Han has a talent for doing the unexpected.”

 _Yeah, you should know, Luke. I remember running into you the day you found out Han had pulled his disappearing act._

Come to think of it, that had been the last time he’d seen Luke display straightforward, honest emotion. Oh gods, the hurt in those eyes; the raw, open wound of abandonment. Orphaned again, he’d thought at the time, and had wondered where that irrelevant notion had come from.

The contrast between the strength of that reaction and Luke’s present icy control puzzled Lando. “Yeah, I’m curious,” he admitted frankly. “We’ve never talked about this in all the time we’ve worked together. Han was your friend as—”

“Is. Han _is_ my friend.” The intensity of Luke’s emphatic statement took Lando by surprise, because Luke's expression and posture remained composed. 

How like Luke to declare loyalty in such uncompromising fashion, though; part and parcel of what drew Lando to him. That bright flame of compassionate, unshakable integrity was what drew everyone to the Jedi—how Han could stay away from Luke was beyond Lando’s comprehension.

While he considered a response, Luke pushed back his chair, and under cover of easing stiff muscles, walked over to a window.

_Getting a little uncomfortable, Luke? I’ve never known you to turn away from something that needed to be faced._

If disquiet was Luke’s instinctive reaction, Lando knew there had to be some deeply unresolved feelings involved. How in all Corellia’s moons had Luke rationalized Han’s departure, then?

Facing the window, Luke finally said something that sounded like there might actually be some feeling behind it.

“Did Han deliberately do his best to avoid me last night?” Nothing to betray emotion in voice or tone, but the set of his shoulders—bravely squared, as if facing an unpleasant fate—told Lando everything he wanted to know, and more.

“Yes,” he confessed, knowing that Luke would probably sift the core of truth from prevarication anyway.

Watching Luke’s shoulders sag a trifle and the head bow wasn’t easy. “I think he was embarrassed to see you,” he offered in compensation.

Luke laughed, but it was without humor. “Embarrassed? Maybe so. Maybe now he just… sees too much of Leia in me.”

Huh? Lando found himself wondering what kind of conclusion he was expected to draw from such an unusual comment. “What did you say?”

He had to strain to hear the response. Luke turned around, a small, sad smile on his lips, not reaching his eyes. “I said, I guess the only thing holding him to us was Leia.”

_No, that’s not what you said at all, but at least this makes a little bit of sense._

Lando hunted for something to say, something that would draw out more of Luke’s perceptions. “Yeah, that sounds like Han. Can’t commit to anything for too long. Doesn’t want anything tying him down.”

Luke stiffened just enough to be noticeable. “No, that’s not true!” he blurted out. He looked surprised at his own vehement response and repeated the denial softly. “Not true at all.”

“So what is the truth, then?” Lando pressed gently, holding his breath that Luke wouldn’t back away like a wary skitpup who’d had one too many stones thrown at it.

Luke looked almost puzzled, as if he couldn’t quite fathom how he’d ended up in this conversation, but seemed willing to finish what he’d started. Maybe it was something he needed to work through for himself anyway; in that case Lando didn’t mind serving as a convenient excuse.

“The truth?” Luke’s smile was both wistful and rueful. “You can’t believe Han is incapable of commitment. He’s proved over and over again that he is.”

Luke’s expression grew distant. He had to be recalling instances of Han’s demonstrated commitment—instances Lando had not shared and would never know.

“It just has to be on his own terms. I don’t think Leia understands that, even now.”

_But you do?_

“Han’s soul is the most… _emancipated_ I’ve ever encountered. He went through a lot for us, Lando, but it all hinged on his own choices.” 

He couldn’t resist playing Sith’s advocate, digging for the bottom line in Luke’s rationale. “He chose to accept official rank. And romance Leia.”

Luke shook his head. “None of that was on his own terms. He tried to be who Leia wanted and it didn’t work, because it went against his nature. Could never—” He drew a deep breath and abruptly flicked whatever else he’d been going to say away with a wave of his hand. “Doesn’t matter anyway. No point in considering ‘might have beens’.”

_Doesn’t matter? Are you trying to convince me—or yourself, Luke?_

He’d stayed, loyal friend and ally, joined the Cause and kept the faith—and all that obviously mattered less to Luke than one ne’er-do-well scoundrel who kept them all at bay. Worse than that, Lando found himself unable to summon much resentment or principled indignation.

He was excused from agreeing with such a patent dismissal when Artoo trundled back into the room, warbling to his master.

“Artoo thinks I should try one more time to dissuade Cleres from using the Forecourt for his announcement.”

Well, the mood of the moment had been ruined anyway. “Sure, go on.” Lando heaved himself to his feet, surprised at the sudden cramp in overly rigid muscles. “I guess I’ll make that call to Leia after all.”

* * * * *

An hour later they were descending the broad stonework staircase into the forecourt, two steps behind Elder Cleres and the four chief delegates. Behind them the rest of the delegates and aides trailed in a noisy clump. Below, the droids were already in place by the hastily assembled podium, thanks to sensible use of the lifts. Lando supposed the regal procession was slightly preferable to crowding into the lifts and being at the mercy of mechanical sabotage, but not by much.

Threepio had certainly been correct about the crowd. Blinking his already gritty eyes against the harsh glare of high-intensity lighting, Lando looked over Cleres’ head at the wall-to-wall crowd filling not only the forecourt but spilling out through the open archways into the street and park beyond. His little holdout blaster wasn’t going to be much good here.

Threepio fussed around the delegates, obviously enjoying his moment of authority as he assigned each individual a specific location appropriate to his or her relative importance throughout the summit. Lando shuffled into his indicated position with a minor grin, his adrenaline high beginning to ebb. Beside him Luke appeared as serene and composed as ever, slightly smiling, but his eyes were active, and Lando knew he had to be searching the crowd for signs of danger in less obvious ways as well.

He felt a touch on his shoulder and turned to face Muya Sadika, the youngest member of the deliberating council, and one of the last holdouts to agreement. Of all the delegates, he’d had the most difficulty in actually reading her, although he’d quickly identified the pattern of her objections. She was clearly a Separatist and loyal to the pre-Empire traditions, as unswervingly devoted to her ideals as Cleres was to his. The difference in their personal styles had thoroughly intrigued him—Cleres’ rigid autocratic manner seemed at odds with someone who actively supported a cooperative effort and Muya had delivered every single one of her many objections with an apologetic and faintly conciliatory air. 

“I am pleased you were able to support the resolution offered today, Director,” he said carefully, searching her expression for a clue to her acquiescence. Although Muya was of average size for a Pontradan, which meant she only came up to Lando’s ribcage, she stood on a higher tier and therefore maintained level eye contact with him.

“You are very persuasive, Ambassador.”

Although his ego wanted to accept Muya’s compliment, his rational mind scented misdirection. She really was a very skilled politician and rhetorician. “That’s very flattering, Director, but I don’t think this proposal addressed all your concerns.”

“No, it did not.” She met his eyes directly, a surprisingly bold, aggressive move on her part, one he felt compelled to match. Native Pontradans deviated from basic humanoid stock in several respects, including size and facial features. Their eyes lacked colored irises; a disconcerting characteristic close up. Mutual discomfort between the Pontradans and stock humans decreed very little direct eye contact and it wasn’t easy to hold her gaze for very long. “None of them could, by their very nature of compromise.”

“Why did you agree then?”

“Because it was obvious there would be an Accord, with or without my approval. I had no choice. My wisest course of action was to agree to this temporary solution and wait for further opportunities.”

“A temporary solution only?” he echoed. Resisting the temptation to bridle a bit at the implication wasn’t as easy as he’d expected. His proposal was a good solution, damnit, not just some stop-gap suggestion. 

She blinked, apparently surprised. “Of course. This will at least allow our economy to recover a little until we can restore complete autonomy. I have already begun counter-measures.”

“To strike down the Accord even before it has a chance to be implemented?” Her comment set his nerves to jangling, although he reminded himself her knowledge of Basic was more limited than most and the wording could be a reflection of that unfamiliarity. 

“You ask this? Have I not made my position clear enough? This… is a compromise, one which obligates us to your republic and that is unacceptable to a true Pontradan.”

He shook his head, exasperated. “But this obligates you to nothing—”

“That we required your assistance in the first place implies obligation. Too many people will feel grateful to the republic and resentful toward their own leaders. This is unacceptable.”

“Don’t you think you’re leaping to conclusions? Public opinion seems to be running very much in favor of this Accord.”

Leaping to conclusions. Like he’d figured, these Pontradans had a lot in common with Corellians.

“They are in favor because they are dazzled by the messengers and are not truly hearing the message.”

“You mean me ‘n Luke? We’re only tryin’ to help.”

“Yes, that was what the Empire told us, too, before they enslaved our people and raped our worlds’ resources. This must not happen again.”

He _really_ hated those kinds of comparisons. “It won’t. In case it slipped your notice, that’s what Luke and I and a lot of other people fought against.”

“We’ve heard the words of Outsiders before, beautiful words of hope and promise that proved to be lies. We will not be fooled again.”

The civil, placatory demeanor Muya had worn for weeks seemed to have vanished, and she now spoke with far more direct passion than she’d ever exhibited in issue debates. Was he only now seeing the real Muya Sadika?

“I think I can understand, at least a little, how it feels to be used and betrayed by someone who promised otherwise.” Of course he could, but perhaps it didn’t compare. 

Another moment indelibly etched into his memory: standing outside a laboratory in the lower levels of Cloud City, listening to Han Solo scream. He hadn’t wanted to think back then just what it took to make a man like Han scream in raw agony—and he still didn’t.

Oh, yes, Lando Calrissian knew how betrayal felt.

“But the trust has to start again somewhere. Cleres trusts us.”

Mentioning Cleres must’ve been the wrong thing to say, because the small female drew back her lips to expose those nasty jagged teeth which proclaimed evolution from carnivores and hissed rudely. 

“Cleres is as much a part of the problem as you and your New Republic. There are many ways to deal with such obstacles.”

Lando rocked back on his heels and nearly slipped on the slick, polished floor. _What the hells?_ Had she just threatened him? Or was he beginning to see conspiracies everywhere he looked? 

He stared at her, entirely too dumbfounded and confused to respond. Those fathomless black eyes stared back at him, relentlessly challenging. Beside him, Luke seemed blissfully unaware of the abrupt chill that seized Lando.

“What—”

“Master Lando, Director Muya!” Threepio chided them softly. “Elder Cleres is about to make the announcement.” 

After a final exchange of glances with the Pont Sen representative, Lando turned front and center, prepared to play his role and accept the gratitude of the Pontradan System with all due sobriety.

And try to make some sense of Muya’s words.

To judge by the crowd’s noisy response, Cleres might have been reciting naughty limericks rather than announcing a Trade Accord; surely they were unable to hear him over their own enthusiastic cheers. The thought brought a smile to Lando’s face—he rather wished Cleres would recite filthy limericks, might take some of the pressure off him and Luke.

An auto-cam hovered annoyingly close and, mindful of the possible audience, Lando favored it with a precisely calculated, charming smile. Discreetly, he smoothed the line of his tunic and shrugged one shoulder minutely to adjust the fall of his cape to a more flattering angle. The cape, the rich, deep green color of wroshyr leaves, had been an indulgence but well worth the expense, considering his present circumstances. He wished he’d had the opportunity to freshen up a bit prior to this appearance.

An anonymous voice called from the edges of the crowd. “Ambassador Calrissian, Jedi Skywalker. Would you turn this way?”

As Lando turned in the direction of the speaker, Threepio started complaining. 

“Really, Artoo, it’s entirely shameful the way organics simply ignore our contributions! No one ever interviews mechanicals.”

Artoo responded with a clearly derisive whistle. 

“I do not have delusions of grandeur! Your logic circuits are faulty.”

Luke grinned at Lando over Artoo’s dome. At least they could share amusement about the droids’ antics, Lando reflected.

Glad to oblige yet another news service’s request for comments and visuals, Lando couldn’t help but think how he and Luke complemented each other in so many ways. Dark and fair, sturdy and slight, extroverted and reserved, temperate and intense; the image they projected together was striking and effective. The arm he draped around Luke’s shoulders in a friendly gesture of solidarity tingled from the shock of physical contact despite Luke’s spontaneous tremor at the presumed familiarity. What a shame Luke appeared determined to remain celibate and solitary.

Lando’s professional smile broadened into a grin of remembrance. When he’d stumbled into the suite’s common room that first morning, yawning and stretching like a veltcat, Luke was already there, alert and tidy in his formal black suit. The remains of a scant breakfast littered the small table before him—rinds of an unfamiliar fruit and a nearly empty glass of some bluish, opaque liquid. The holovid nattered away in the corner, preset to scan for mentions of the trade blockade negotiations. Lando had just taken his first sip of desperately needed kaffin when the vid image flickered and morphed into a familiar face. His own. As gossip went it was fairly innocuous, a mild insinuation that the two New Republic envoys to the Trade Summit enjoyed more than a working relationship. That was when he’d inhaled kaffin down his windpipe, not because he was offended or embarrassed, but because he was startled that anyone could think of Luke as a sexual being. Lando had never met anyone in his entire life who cultivated asceticism and projected self-denial more than Luke Skywalker. Luke had simply smiled thinly and made some comment about the lightspeed multiplier of gossip. Only later had Lando wondered what Luke had made of his reaction to the implication.

“In your opinion, Ambassador, what was the turning point of the negotiations?” 

The outcome had been a foregone conclusion in Lando’s opinion. He’d scented success after the initial session. The opposing factions were weary of the extended discord and its attendant complications; the resolution had merely been a matter of finding the appropriate face-saving alternative acceptable to all parties. Of course, it wouldn’t do to admit as much. This was the part he enjoyed the most; meeting the challenge to balance conflicting requests, his brain hitting hyperdrive speeds to compose a suitably diplomatic response. He removed his arm from Luke’s shoulders and cleared his throat, allowing a calculated pause for silence to settle and attention to focus on him.

“Naturally most of the credit for the succ—”

He caught a glimpse of the flash of laser optics from the corner of his eye; instinct prompted his swift response. Luke fell away from him at his shove, but the move brought Lando himself into the line of fire. He barely had time to think, _No!_ before the blaster bolt struck him high on his right shoulder and spun him around. The impact felt more like someone had flung one of those small marbeleine statues into his side rather than being shot, and then he went numb from neck to waist. Artoo screeched shrilly and wheeled around, bumping against Lando’s legs. No longer in control of his body and unable to stop his momentum, he found himself sprawling full length onto the cool floor. He vaguely realized two things: the press of people surrounding him was gone; and Luke was deflecting laser bolts with his lightsaber. Above the frightened shrieks and shouts of the panicked crowd Lando heard the sizzle and hum of the energy weapon. And he smelled something he’d hoped never to smell again: charred flesh. His own.

Not the most pleasant of realizations to take with him down into blessed oblivion.

At least that blasted itch had disappeared.

* * * * *

“You were most fortunate, Master Lando.”

Between his aching body and the mental disorientation induced by pain-killers, Lando didn’t feel particularly lucky. Threepio handed him his tunic as the med droid trundled out of the emergency treatment area. It squeaked most annoyingly as it retreated, and Lando winced at the redoubled assault on his throbbing headache. He traced the charred edges of his tunic front with his left index finger and frowned. His extremely expensive wroshyr-green cape would surely have a matching hole in it, too large for invisible reweaving. Damnation! Whoever did this was gonna pay.

On the other hand, he probably didn’t have to worry about that ruined white nerf-leather divan anymore. He suspected the Pontradan government had been embarrassed enough to wash that debt clean.

He summoned a grin for the droid. “What do you think, Threepio, does taking potshots at diplomatic envoys count as a breach of protocol?”

“A random act of violence by an unbalanced individual who has no connection to the diplomatic negotiations can hardly—oh, here come Master Luke and Artoo! Perhaps they’ll have some additional information on the culprit.” 

At Threepio’s comment, Lando glanced through the clearplex partition separating the treatment area from the main room. Luke, wearing a grim expression, approached the cubicle in which Lando sat. Artoo rolled along behind his master, and Lando noted that the droid’s optic sensors were rapidly shading from blue to red and back again, a sure sign of information processing on a major scale.

“Artoo appears most agitated. I wonder what could be wrong.”

Lando couldn’t help snorting at Threepio’s naïve concern, although the mechanical’s honest oblivion was refreshing after all the excitement. After all, what wasn’t wrong tonight? That heady moment of victory over the agreement had evaporated with a few whispered words and the flash of a blaster. And it was beginning to look like the two had more in common than anyone might suspect.

He tugged the tunic over his head, trying not to jar his shoulder too much in the process. A mere flesh wound, already treated with a topical bacta dressing and local anesthetic, but the area would be tender and his arm stiff for a day or two.

Luke stopped just inside the entrance to the cubicle and leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. Artoo rolled past him until he reached Threepio’s side. The protocol droid rested a metallic hand on Artoo’s dome in what Lando could swear was an affectionate gesture. _Like some old bonded pair,_ Lando thought to himself, again amused by the very palpable connection between the two droids. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Lando stood up, too quickly, and felt the blood rush from his head. The room spun around him and before he managed to sit back down without falling over, Luke was by his side. Under any other circumstances he might have tingled from scalp to toenails when Luke slid an arm around his waist to help support him; now he only felt a numb relief that he wouldn’t fall over on his face. But he definitely liked the hint of concern he saw in Luke’s eyes. 

“More of an inconvenience than anything,” he said rapidly, forestalling Threepio’s undoubtedly lengthy and unwelcome repetition of the med droid’s diagnosis. “I’ll be fine.”

Luke frowned, and Lando knew that he’d not missed the distinction between ‘I’m fine’ and ‘I’ll be fine.’

“I’m fine,” he repeated, a tad more forcefully. “Just a little tired and shaky. Decent night’s rest and I’ll be as good as new.”

“You saved my life tonight, Lando. Thank you.”

He shrugged off the gratitude and immediately regretted his rash action.

“You don’t do modest all that well, Lando.” Luke offered a small grin, but his next words were somber. “I’d be dead if you hadn’t pushed me aside. I never saw it coming.”

 _Even Jedi make mistakes._ Han had been right all the way around.

“You’re welcome, Luke.” He flexed his shoulder experimentally. “But next time I’ll let you take the hit, if you prefer.” Sensibly, Lando took his time on his second attempt at standing up, grateful for Luke’s continued assistance. His caution was rewarded with only minor and short-lived vertigo.

“Threepio will take you back to the hotel. The guards are waiting for you down the hall.”

“And where are you going?” He could see Luke was uneasy and preoccupied. For once, Threepio had been right on target: something was wrong. 

Luke took a deep breath and blew it out before answering. Lando recognized a deliberate calming technique, one he used himself from time to time. “The security offices.”

He felt a moment’s flash of irritation. _Don’t patronize or protect me, Luke._ “They have someone in custody already?”

“Yes.” 

Lando twitched, he couldn’t help it. Something definitely wasn’t right here, because Luke’s expression was grimmer than it had been a few moments earlier. His brain obviously wasn’t functioning on all thrusters just yet, because the fact that the local authorities had captured whoever had shot him didn’t seem such a bad thing to him. 

“Is it a secret, or am I allowed to know who damn near killed me?”

Despite a rigidly controlled expression, very real pain surfaced in Luke’s eyes and his hand tightened on Lando’s arm. 

He cast about for something humorous to say, to ease Luke’s tangible tension. “Well, whoever he is, he owes me a new wardrobe.”

Luke shook his head. “Han.” He swallowed hard and then continued. “They’ve arrested Han for attempted murder.”

Lando’s breath went out of him as though he’d been gut-punched and the room whirled around him again, for an entirely different reason this time. Between Luke’s revelation and his physical injuries, even his teeth began to ache, pulsing in time with Threepio’s metronomic “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”

“Maybe you’d better sit down again, Lando.”

Luke’s voice penetrated the hazy fog of confusion and dread premonition.

“I’m going with you.” The shock focused his attention past physical discomfort. “Has to be a mistake.” Maybe yesterday he could've entertained the far-fetched possibility that Han would do something this crazy, but not now. Not after last night’s conversation. He couldn’t disguise his frown. Pontradan justice was swift and merciless—he could guess at the sentence for attempted assassination of a foreign dignitary. They had to get this cleared up, and _fast_. 

Luke didn’t argue.

* * * * *

Typical bureaucracy, Lando thought sourly as they followed the guard into the detention block. They’d wasted more than an hour trying to get permission to visit Han. Apparently prisoners weren’t allowed visitors; an exception had been granted only because of the extraordinary circumstances and the courtesy hadn’t extended to the droids. Lando hadn’t appreciated the delay at all, for both his arm and head throbbed painfully. Perhaps he was having some kind of allergic reaction to the painkillers as well, for he felt feverish and his stomach roiled badly. More than once he’d considered returning to the hotel, but a quick glance at Luke’s edgy figure stifled the impulse each time.

The guard stopped before an anonymous door. “Fifteen minutes, Ambassadors.”

The door slid aside and they entered the claustrophobic cubicle. Lando couldn’t help but shudder when the door closed behind them with an emphatic click. He’d been on the wrong side of cell doors too often in his life. 

“Luke!”

Han instantly checked his brief start of astonishment and relaxed back into his half-reclining position on the narrow extruded plastiform bunk, but it didn’t take much insight to recognize the coiled apprehension in that lean form. The Corellian had probably been suffering agonies, wondering if any of those shots had found their targets. A bland sabacc expression stole across Han’s face, but those dark eyes searched out every single detail of Luke’s appearance, obviously hunting for signs of injury. Lando had the brief impression he was invisible for all the attention Han paid to him.

“Told me I couldn’t have visitors.” 

If Luke was surprised at Han’s gaunt appearance, he hid it well. “I guess you were misinformed, Han.” Luke’s voice caught on his friend’s name, and if he’d been trying for a casual tone, Lando decided he’d failed miserably. “How are you?”

“Bored. At least they promised me I wouldn’t be here for too long.”

Typical Han, of course, flippant and offhand regarding his situation. Han knew, probably better than he or Luke, just how the Pontradan legal system worked. 

“We’ll get you out.” Luke’s jaw firmed stubbornly, and for just a moment Lando saw the defiant youth of years past in the slender figure.

Han slowly sat up, not taking his eyes from Luke. “Chewie?”

Luke shook his head. “He’s disappeared. But they are looking for him.” 

The idea of a two and a half meter tall Wookiee trying to hide on a planet where the average adult only came up to Lando’s chest would've been funny under other circumstances.

“Luke, you gotta promise me you’ll find Chewie n’ get him off this rock. He doesn’t have anything to do with this. Make them believe it,” Han jerked his head toward the vidtrans over the door and turned to Lando. “C’mon, Lando, this is what you do. Don’t wanna take Chewie down with me.”

Lando had never heard Han sound more solemn in his life. Kind of nice to know there were some things even the Corellian wouldn’t abandon.

Luke reached out as if to touch Han, but dropped his hand in mid-gesture. “We’ll find Chewie, I promise that. But we’re not leaving without you, Han. This is all a big mistake.”

Lando didn’t like the sound of Han’s bitter laugh.

“They find the _Falcon_ yet?”

“Yes.” From the tone of Luke’s voice, Lando knew it hurt the Jedi as much to say it as it surely hurt Han to hear it.

Han looked disgruntled more than concerned or upset that his beloved ship had been impounded. “Well, we had a full cargo hold. I’m sure that went over big with the local law. Yeah, our last run. We were gonna drop it on Pont Sen and get the hell outta here.” The way Han scrubbed his hands over his face made Lando recall that sabacc game so many years ago, when he and Han had played a single high stakes hand for a ship named the _Millennium Falcon._ Han had done the same thing then, when he’d won his heart’s desire—the Corellian’s way of hiding the emotion in his eyes. “Don’t matter, just so long as Chewie’s all right.”

 _And you, Luke._ Lando heard the unspoken words. He was now certain why Han had strained the limits of self-preservation. The proof of his theory was sitting in front of him. Well, damn. It almost made Han look noble.

He shifted uncomfortably as another wave of dizziness washed over him. When Luke grabbed his uninjured arm and steered him to the bunk, Lando wasn’t so far gone that he missed the tight, resentful line of Han’s mouth. He would’ve grinned if he’d had the energy.

“Lando took the shot meant for me,” he heard Luke explain to Han. “Pushed me out of the way. Saved my life.” That steadying hand stayed on his shoulder and Han grumbled something under his breath. Didn’t take any imagination to guess at the suspicions stampeding through Han’s mind, but Lando knew they didn’t have time to indulge in that right now.

“We figured you were long gone by now, Han.”

The Corellian shrugged, a rueful smile quirking a corner of his mouth. 

Maybe it was the fact he’d been shot. Maybe it was the fact that his triumph at the negotiating table was about to be ground to dust as a result of this complication. Maybe it was a sudden surge of jealousy at the way Han and Luke looked at each other, ignoring him. Whatever the reason, Lando lost his temper.

“Look, pal. If you don’t tell us—fast—what’s going on here, these Pontradans are gonna have you tried, convicted and fried in less than a week! You either tell us what you know, or we forget we ever knew you were on this planet.”

“Lando—!” Luke’s right hand tightened painfully on his shoulder.

“Take it easy, kid.” Han Solo was the only person alive who could call Luke Skywalker ‘kid’ and not have it sound like the basest of insults. This was something Lando could never do, lacking Han’s history with Luke. That lack of history was a regret he felt down to his bone marrow. 

Han glanced significantly at Luke’s hand and skipped his gaze to the hole on Lando’s other sleeve. “Better ease up before lover boy’s got two bad arms.” 

The pressure lessened immediately, but Lando could tell by the furrow between Luke’s brows that questions were being postponed.

“I was planning on leaving last night,” Han said, “but Risco had me worried. One of the sore losers I was telling you about. Calls himself a patriot, a Separatist. I figured it was just a front, a way of turnin’ the runs into some kinda noble cause instead of admitting he’s doin’ it for money or thrills like everybody else. Guess I was wrong.” Han shrugged, entirely unembarrassed about affirming his own motives.

“I thought he was harmless. A hothead, but no guts, just a case of brain burn, y’know? One of the guys—you remember Cassell, don’t you, Lando—thought it’d be funny to let everybody know I’d been a general with the Alliance ‘n after that Risco kept bendin’ my ear about how there wasn’t much dif’rence between the Empire and the New Republic.” 

Han’s small grin didn’t do much to convince Lando the Corellian had been truly amused in any way. _Guess that makes two of us, then, ‘cause I wasn’t too happy with Muya, either._

“Maybe he figured my soul needed savin’ or something. I told him there wasn’t any love lost between me ‘n the New Republic, an’ just let him rant. He was always bragging he had inside information, ‘n maybe he did, from Campion. Never paid too much attention to that sort of thing, but last night he came to the Falcon said he knew the Accord was gonna be finalized today. Went on ‘n on about what a bad thing that would be. Said if the leaders couldn’t take care of the problem, he would. Said he knew a way to make sure the Accord would never take effect. Asked if I wanted in on the action, since I had such a grudge against the republic.”

Lando almost couldn’t hear the rest of Han’s words for the roaring in his ears, thinking about Muya and the fanatical fervor he’d glimpsed in her eyes. _There are many ways to deal with such obstacles,_ she’d said. _I have already begun counter-measures._ The trembling in his hands had nothing to do with fatigue or pain, or even post-trauma shock, and everything to do with a very real fear that they were facing a situation where the cards were stacked against them and all the skifters were up somebody else’s sleeve.

Feelings had been running high on all the associated issues for a long time. Greed and politics, especially with misguided patriotism tossed into the mixture, often bred violence—he and Luke had been aware of that from the start of this mission. They just hadn’t expected it to come from this direction.

“I mighta still ignored him, but sometimes these zealots can talk themselves into action. And Chewie said he smelled different. Like he wasn’t just talkin’ anymore but ready to do something.” 

The rather obscure latter statement made perfect sense to Lando. He nodded his understanding, as did Luke. They were well aware of the Wookiee hyper-developed olfactory sense.

“We decided it wouldn’t hurt to wait another day or two, keep an eye on him”

“So you dropped by the hotel for a friendly warning.”

Han nodded, his gaze straying back to Luke, and Lando let a little smile creep out onto his lips. _You stayed ‘cause you wanted to protect Luke, didn’t you, Han?_

“Only we lost him in the crowd. Didn’t get a fix on him until the first shot.”

“That’s the one I took.” Lando rubbed his injured shoulder and realized he no longer felt quite so fuzzy brained or nauseous. “How many did he get off? I remember Luke deflecting several blaster bolts.”

That couldn’t have been an easy task, come to think of it, considering how jampacked the forecourt had been; safely deflecting those bolts away from the assembled crowd must’ve required amazing skill.

“Five altogether. I deflected four shots.” Luke’s hand dropped to the empty hook on his belt where his lightsaber normally hung. The security guard had confiscated their weapons, of course, before letting them see Han.

“ _Five!_ Now who’s getting soft?”

Han shot him a murderous glare. “Neither one of us had a clear line of fire. I was closer, got to Risco just when PonSec closed in. He got away, but I’ll be damned if I know how. I don’t think he even knew they were there. Listen, Luke… there was something funny goin’ on. They could’ve nabbed him easy but they didn’t. And they got there too damned fast. It’s like they were waitin’ til I showed up to make their move.”

Lando frowned, still working sums out in his head and not liking the answers. If Han’s arrest hadn’t been a matter of inopportune timing, then something very big was going on. And he and Luke were smack in the middle of it.

“You think you were set up?”

He wondered if Luke realized he was rubbing his right wrist with his left hand, a nervous gesture he’d seen only half a dozen times in the past three years. 

Han scowled. “Played me for a fool, all right. Risco, of all people!”

Luke frowned. “Is he capable of setting you up like that? Something like that had to be carefully planned, and it doesn’t sound like his style, from what you’ve said.”

Han raked fingers through his hair. “No, it’s not his style. Somebody else must’ve put him up to it.” Hazel eyes grew distant with thought. “Come to think of it, Risco wasn’t so bad ‘til he took up with Campion. Now there’s a pair.”

“Who’s Campion?”

“Some local Separatist leader or somethin’. Risco met up with him at a rally a few months back ‘n brought him around. Risco really got worked up over things after he started hangin’ out with Campion. Chewie used to compare Campion to one o’ those big Latrian spiders, y’know those almost sentient ones that get the little spiders to spin their webs for ‘em?”

The door slid open again. “Time, Ambassadors.”

“Han, we’ll get to the bottom of this, I swear.” 

If Lando was aware of the abrupt tension in Han’s body, like he’d suddenly been plugged into a live electrical circuit when Luke laid a hand against Han’s arm, he was sure Luke recognized it, too.

Han waited until they were nearly out the door to reply. “Even if you clear up this murder charge, they might still get me on smuggling. An’ I know what they do to smugglers.”

The door slid shut with a conclusive sigh before either of them could answer. And one glance at Luke’s stricken face told Lando he’d been more wrong about Luke than he’d ever imagined. As they walked down the narrow corridor Lando began to feel the restrictive silence close in on him with a sense of finality. As though something had just come to an end.

He stole another thoughtful glance at Luke’s tormented profile. 

Or perhaps something was just beginning.

* * * * *

When they returned to the reception area of the Security Offices, Elder Cleres and Security Prefect Rothu were waiting for them, wearing severely official expressions. Luke headed straight for them, outwardly controlled but evidently preparing for a confrontation. Lando, lagging several paces behind Luke and feeling uncomfortably like he was moving through some kind of heavy gravity field, tried to quicken his steps. After the palpable demonstration of mutual whatever in that jail cell, he was none too confident of Luke’s continued diplomacy. As a safety precaution, he decided to forestall whatever Luke planned to say, give him a moment to consider the propriety of his words. Whatever the situation, antagonizing the recognized authorities here wouldn’t be a smart move—at least not until they knew more about the overall situation—but he didn’t get the chance to speak first.

Both Pontradans stiffened their already rigid posture as they approached and Lando suppressed the instinct to swallow hard against instinctive dread. He had the uncomfortable feeling they weren’t here to offer another batch of formal apologies and reassurances. 

“Ambassador Calrissian.” Cleres offered a courteous, if stiff-necked, nod of the head toward Lando, then bowed slightly in Luke’s direction. “Jedi Skywalker. I trust you have satisfied your curiosity in meeting with the suspect.” That same stern, overpowering presence Lando had felt in the conference room definitely had center stage again. 

In an effort to diffuse the palpable tension radiating from the Elder, Lando fell back on convention. “We appreciate your making an exception of your regulations in this case, Elder, Prefect.” Lando gritted his teeth against another spike of pain hammering through his arm when he performed the ritual greeting gesture. Neither Pontradan returned it, and Lando’s stomach sank to the region of his glossy polished shoes as he tried to decipher the discourtesy. Something was dreadfully wrong. He stole a quick, surreptitious glance toward Luke, who maintained a casually watchful posture.

“Our examination of the suspect’s identidisc and ship’s logs revealed some most interesting information. This _free trader,_ ” Cleres’ voice held more than a little distaste and sarcasm, “one Han Solo of Corellia, also appears to be a former general in the New Republic Combined Military Forces and former Consort to Minister of State Leia Organa.” 

“That’s correct,” Luke agreed in a mild tone of voice, although Lando had no doubt he was concealing a great deal of emotion behind that bland façade.

“And yet you chose to keep this information to yourself when you asked permission to visit the prisoner. Despite the fact we openly shared everything we had with you.”

Oh, great, Luke. Withholding information. What sort of penalty does that carry, I wonder?

“I wasn’t entirely certain this was the same man. It could easily have been someone impersonating him for unknown reasons. The only way to make certain was to see him in person.”

So much for the idea that Jedi can’t lie when it suits them.

“I see. Perhaps you are unaware of this, then.” Cleres nodded to the other native Pontradan.

Security Prefect Rothu Temlo, large and heavyset for a Pontradan—the perfect image of an uncompromising and dedicated law enforcement official, Lando thought—punched a button on his belt remote, bringing a vid player to life. In silence, the four watched the indisputable truth unreel before their eyes: video obtained from the hotel’s security cams. 

So that’s how he managed it, Lando thought as he watched the imaged Han Solo enter the hotel virtually invisible as a member of a tourist group and subsequently disguise himself as waitstaff in order to access the security floor. Simple but effective, given the large number of standard humans living and working on Pont Gollo. No wonder the guard had been so sleepy when Lando passed him—surely there had been some sort of soporific in the kaf Han had brought to him. Still… the guard didn’t appear very alert to the suspicious circumstances in the first place. Some protection. If the smugglers had really intended to harm them, there would've been no difficulty in doing so at any time. Each new development inclined Lando toward the theory that hidden agendas had been at work all along, and he’d simply been blind to them.

The thought didn’t please him at all, that awareness of a deeper subtext throughout the weeks of negotiation had escaped his observation. 

From the chrono markers blinking across the bottom of the screen, Lando noted very little time passed between Han’s entrance into their suite and his own arrival. 

At Cleres’ abrupt gesture, Rothu pressed his remote again and the image froze on the screen.

“You met with Han Solo last night, Ambassador.” Once again Lando was aware of the strength of will in the Pontradan’s direct, accusing gaze. “To what purpose?”

He really didn’t see much point in hiding the truth now. “He came to offer a warning of possible danger. That’s all.”

Rothu’s snort of disbelief didn’t do much to restore Lando’s flagging confidence. Perhaps it was too many years of mistreatment by various local authorities, but Rothu raised the hackles on the back of his neck.

“You were already under the protection of our government. I find it hard to believe that he would employ such a devious approach if his only intent was to offer a warning to an old acquaintance. Why not contact you directly and openly? And why choose a time when Jedi Skywalker was known to be elsewhere? What did you and Solo discuss in your private meeting? An assassination attempt on the Jedi? Or were you perhaps partners in his smuggling ventures?”

Half a dozen rebuttals to the prefect’s questions leaped to mind, but Lando knew there was little point in voicing them. From the small waiting room beyond the security grid he heard Artoo’s little whistle of dismay, and caught a glimpse of artificial light bouncing off Threepio’s bronzed shell in his peripheral vision.

Apparently surprised out of his equanimity by the implication of collaboration, Luke started. Lando could only assume the Jedi was still off-balance from the encounter with Han. He’d certainly seen the allegation coming.

“Are you formally accusing _Ambassador_ Calrissian of a crime, Prefect?” Luke’s voice hardened into frosty civility, and he carefully invoked a reference to their status as visiting dignitaries.

“In light of tonight’s events, there is reasonable cause to suspect him of collaborating with Solo in either the assassination attempt on your life or as an associate in piracy.”

Well, hell. The evening just kept getting better and better. The mission briefings had included the information that because the Pont System did not recognize the New Republic as the legitimate successor to the Old Republic, their status as representatives of an outlaw government wouldn’t guarantee them diplomatic immunity under local law. Of course, such a remote possibility hadn’t seemed important to Lando at the time. Part of his assignment here had been to represent the New Republic in a positive light, perhaps lure the resources-rich system into the fold of the New Republic. He thought he’d enjoyed some success… at least until tonight.

Luke frowned. “That’s several unwarranted assumptions. You have no evidence that Captain Solo engaged in illegal trade practices, and neither he nor Ambassador Calrissian attempted to assassinate me.”

“That remains to be seen. Until the situation can be investigated fully, we ask that _Citizen_ Calrissian confine himself to his hotel suite. If our inquiries substantiate complicity on either crime, he will be formally charged.”

Lando grimaced at the disrespectful emphasis on the form of address. Suspect in a crime or not, he was still the representative of a foreign government, and he was just insulted enough to make an issue of it.

“Elder Cleres, Prefect Rothu, I believe that, unless I am formally charged with a crime under your laws, the proper title accorded to me is Ambassador.” The hostility directed toward him was unmistakable, but Cleres had the grace to nod in agreement.

Rothu picked up Luke’s lightsaber from behind the desk and handed it to him with clear reluctance. “Your lightsaber, Jedi Skywalker.” He then picked up Lando’s small holdout blaster in its wrist holster and the knife he always kept strapped to his leg, both weapons surrendered prior to visiting Han.

“Perhaps you were not aware, _Ambassador,_ that carrying concealed weapons is a punishable crime on Pont Gollos? As well as a breach of summit protocol?”

Lando supposed he’d never hear the end of this from Threepio. The droid had strenuously objected to Lando carrying the blaster—he hadn’t known about the knife—and wailed about the repercussions of discovery. Nothing worse than a righteously validated and overly chatty protocol droid. 

They had him on this issue, he had to concede, but one success inclined him to argue this as well. They’d not objected to Luke carrying his lightsaber and found it difficult to believe they hadn’t at least suspected he had armed himself. And it certainly wouldn’t do to let them think they had the upper hand here. “I think tonight’s events prove the inadequacy of your security measures. My efforts at self-protection are entirely justifiable under the circumstances.”

He knew the words were more than inflammatory and was frankly surprised when Cleres nodded abruptly. Rothu thrust the weapons at him, distinctly unhappy with the Elder’s decision. 

“They must be worn openly, not concealed.”

Luke seemed equally determined not to be deflected. The Pontradans were about to get a lesson in Jedi tenacity.

“What about Captain Solo’s situation?” 

No, it hadn’t taken Luke long at all to circle back around to Han’s welfare. But since determining whether Han had been framed for the assassination attempt was certainly crucial to both his and Han’s well being, Lando supposed he couldn’t object too much.

“There’s no doubt he was involved in the system-wide piracy. His ship’s hold was filled with trade goods. His records will be searched thoroughly and if we do not find a legitimate receipt for the cargo, he will be charged with illegal trading. That alone is punishable by five years in a penal colony, without option of parole. As far as the other charges, he was found immediately after the incident in the area where the shots were fired from, his blaster had been recently discharged, and he certainly has ample motive—”

“Motive!” By the tone of his voice, Luke had again been jarred out of his composure. “What motive?”

“His forced dismissal from the New Republic military after a failed romance with one of its principals would naturally lead to resentment of its authority. Corellians are famous for their passionate natures and vendettas—who would be a better target for revenge than one of the New Republic’s most admired and respected figures?”

Rationalization and justification were terrifyingly easy to come by, Lando thought. Humans had nothing on Pontradans in that regard, obviously. Luke regained his equilibrium and spoke calmly. “Captain Solo resigned his commission, he was not forced out. And the relationship with Minister Organa certainly has nothing to do with this situation.”

_You’re wasting your breath here, Luke. These guys aren’t going to listen. Their minds are already made up—and I’d like to know why._

But Lando wasn’t about to enter into the fray with his partially-considered suspicions and confused tale of private agendas and veiled threats. At least not until he’d had a chance to think all the implications through and discuss them with Luke.

“Ruined romances, Jedi Skywalker, often result in crimes. A lovers’ quarrel between you two, for instance?”

He’d wondered when they’d get around to that, and saw Luke twitch as he made the connection as well. This was the first reference anyone had made directly to either of them regarding the popular gossip.

“Your incorrect perception of the relationship between Ambassador Calrissian and myself also has nothing to do with this situation.”

_Wonderful. Virtuous indignation. That’s really gonna convince ‘em, Luke. Anyway, you don’t have to look so insulted at the idea. Think of my reputation… not to mention what it does to my ego._

“Are you aware that Captain Solo was following someone he suspected of possible violence, the same person he’d warned the Ambassador against last night? And that your security officers allowed the real criminal to escape and instead arrested an innocent man?”

Rothu’s lips curled back into an amazingly repellent sneer. “Yes, he made that claim to us as well. I didn’t find his statement particularly convincing.”

“I don’t find your investigative procedures very convincing either,” Luke snapped, obviously at the end of his patience.

Cleres, who had remained silent during Luke and Rothu’s discussion, raised his hand in an abrupt gesture. 

“This will solve nothing. It’s late and we’re all tired. We have an escort waiting to take you back to your hotel. If you care to consider a separate suite of rooms for your own safety, Jedi Skywalker, we will make the arrangements.”

Luke shook his head emphatically. “I’m not in any danger. At least not from Ambassador Calrissian.” The cold gaze he turned on Cleres and Rothu indicated beyond a doubt where he thought any possible dangers might originate.

Cleres remained unperturbed. “If that is your wish. Tomorrow you may examine our evidence against Captain Solo and Ambassador Calrissian if you choose.” The Elder beckoned, and a security detail stepped forward. Six men, rather blatantly well-armed.

All this just for one not-even-officially-accused prisoner? Lando grinned. They probably didn’t trust Luke not to try to free his lover. Lover. The word hung up somewhere in the web of his imagination and Lando wondered just who he’d meant by that—himself or Han.

Luke stood his ground as the detail closed in around them. “If Ambassador Calrissian is not under arrest then we decline your honor guard.”

_Nicely done, Luke. Good move. Call their bluff and leave us free to figure out just what in the hell is going on._

Rothu scowled, yet another exceptionally unattractive expression in the security prefect’s repertoire. Cleres stiffened and drew himself up to his full height, a gesture which should have seemed ludicrous given his stature, but wasn’t, and tried to stare Luke into submission. The tactic didn’t work; Lando idly wondered what it said about Cleres’ self-esteem, if he thought he could succeed where the Emperor himself had failed. Luke merely waited calmly, with only the hard lines on either side of his mouth betraying his emotional state.

“If you decline protection we can hardly guarantee your safety.”

Like their protection was a guarantee to begin with? Although the lack of an escort might make them more vulnerable to outside dangers, if it was a matter of merely staying alert or having to watch the people assigned to protect them, he’d choose the former every time.

“That is a risk the Ambassador and I are willing to accept.”

_Is this how you looked when you faced Vader and the Emperor, Luke? Immovable? A monument of unimaginable strength and will?_

Cleres dipped his head to acknowledge the validity of Luke’s request. Rothu gestured to the security detail and the moment passed. From the waiting area Artoo chirped a small sound of relief and Threepio exclaimed a distinct, “Thank the Maker!”

“You are considered material witnesses at a minimum, and Ambassador Calrissian remains under suspicion. Do not attempt to leave Pont Gollo until the matter has been resolved.” With a final, unrelenting glare, Cleres turned away from them and Lando breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Let’s get out of here, Luke.”

Luke glanced back toward the door leading to the detention cells, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he shook his head and smiled at Lando. “Yeah, let’s do that.” With a single look he gathered up the droids and followed Lando. 

“I guess this means our evening of delight has come to an end,” Lando quipped as he stepped out into the warm night air. “Not that I’m particularly sorry—” 

“Jedi Skywalker, how do you feel about—”

“Ambassador! Any truth to the rumor you met with General Solo—”

“Is it true—”

“How do you think this will—”

Lando’s initial reaction was surprise that reporters would be waiting for them; his second reaction was surprise at his first reaction. Behind him he heard Luke’s quickly suppressed sigh of irritation.

Lando’s reflexes took command, an instinct operating somewhere beyond the level of conscious thought. Fortunately, the crowd proved surprisingly well-mannered for a group of reporters. In far less time than he’d expected, the questions trailed off. Lando caught himself wondering if Luke had in some way influenced the reporters to be so agreeable; such cooperation was extremely unusual in his experience.

“I think we should visit the scene of the crime,” Luke suggested, his gaze fixed on the park beyond the traffic lanes. The security offices were adjacent to the Assembly House where the negotiations had taken place.

As they passed their parked hovercar, Luke spoke to the chauffeur lounging against the vehicle. “There’s no need for you to bother. We’ll walk. You can wait here.”

Lando blinked, again surprised, this time at the driver’s amiable agreement. Bayss had been their driver since their arrival on Pont Gollos, a concerned and somewhat overprotective escort. Now Lando had no doubts he was seeing the Force at work. 

What a team they would’ve made! Such a shame Luke had dedicated his life to good works.

“Master Luke, should we wait here as well?”

“No, you two come with us.” Luke grinned at Artoo’s doubtful whistle. “Don’t worry. This is nothing like Endor. Plenty of paved walkways for you. And don’t wander off either. I don’t think we need to get separated under the present circumstances.”

“Of course not, Master Luke.”

“So what do you expect to find at the scene of the crime, Luke?” They left the brightly lit street behind them and entered the shadowy domain of massive trees. Out of the corner of his eye Lando saw one of the shadows move toward them and drew his holdout blaster with thoughtless ease, pleased that his practice efforts the previous night had proven useful. He probably would’ve been unhappy if he’d wasted all that time anyway.

Luke laughed softly. “Him.” The shadow resolved itself into Chewbacca.

The Wookiee charged at them, snarling, and it took all the control Lando could muster to keep his finger off the blaster trigger. There was just something about facing an obviously enraged creature with fangs and claws and massing twice his size…

Artoo wheeped nervously and Threepio drew back in surprise. “Oh my! Chewbacca!”

[Cub! You are safe!] Chewie gathered Luke roughly in his massive arms and held him close for an instant. [I feared for you when I heard at least one bolt had found a target.]

Relieved as he was to see the big Wookiee safe and whole, Lando winced. _Damn! I really must be invisible tonight._ All right, so maybe it was more than a little selfish and petty to want a few words of acknowledgement, if not sympathy, from somebody tonight—but damnit—

Luke stepped back from Chewie’s embrace, looking a little out of breath, and shook his head. “Thank the Force you’re all right, Chewie! I’m fine.” 

Chewbacca then focused that intense blue gaze on him; not for the first time in his life Lando was glad he had a clear conscience, because Chewie had a way of getting behind his eyes. 

[It was you?] The tone was gentle, and so was the accompanying pat on his shoulder.

Now that he’d been acknowledged, he had no problem being gracious. “Don’t worry, Chewie. Minor wound. I’ll be full strength in a day or two.”

[Good, because we will need your help to free Han.] Chewie turned back to Luke. [How is he?]

“He’s all right for now. About what you’d expect, sitting in a jail cell for a crime he didn’t commit. His main concern was for you.”

Chewie growled his opinion of Han’s situation. [Hardly surprising that he thinks of me. Han has a good heart. But he does not tolerate confinement well.]

 _Now there’s an understatement if ever I heard one._ Sweating out a night or two in a drunk tank was one thing, but this—

Luke patted Chewie’s arm comfortingly. “We’ll get him out as soon as possible, I promise.”

[I have a plan,] the Wookiee declared proudly. [Han will not suffer for long.]

“I hope your plan’s better than most of Han’s,” muttered Lando, and received a stern glare from Chewbacca.

“Good, I’m glad one of us does,” replied Luke. “You must have a better idea of what’s going on than we do.”

Lando lifted an eyebrow at the distinct warning glance Luke shot in his direction. _You think I’m crazy enough to make Chewie mad, Luke? Don’t you worry ‘bout me, I’ve spent years figuring out just how far I can push Chewie—and Han, for that matter._

An instant later it occurred to him that maybe Luke was reacting to his subtle slander of Han’s tactical abilities, a thought that made him grin.

[Come with me.] Chewie’s gesture included Lando and the droids. [I have a speeder parked near another entrance. I will tell you what I know as we go.]

Chewie turned as if to head through the woods, then abruptly stopped and whirled around. Lando tensed as the Wookiee looked long and hard at each of them in turn, so long and hard that he began to wonder if he’d miscalculated the Wookiee’s tolerance level regarding Han jokes. Behind Lando, Artoo whistled a cautionary note and Threepio quickly hushed him.

Before he had time to gauge variables of responses Chewie had pulled them into a joyous hug. 

[I have missed you.] 

Lando didn’t even mind the whiff of exhilarated Wookiee mingling with the spicy scents of native thistleberry and transplanted Coruscant heburnia trees. A knot of stifled emotion began to unravel in his chest at the undisguised affection in Chewie’s grumble. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Luke close his eyes and clench his hand convulsively against the Wookiee’s chest in an unconscious expression of relief.

“Me too,” Luke whispered.

Yeah, damnit, I missed you too, you and that furless Corellian partner of yours. He didn’t mind admitting it, either, at least not to himself.

“Should’ve at least let us known you were still all right,” he griped to cover his own emotions, thinking more of the visible anguish in Luke’s posture as he stood by that window than of his own concerns. From what he’d seen earlier, Luke was a man balancing on a slender margin of manufactured rationales.

[Yes, I agree. Had it been my choice I would not have left you with only silence to breed fears and questions.] Chewie released them and stepped back. [But at first the rupture was too raw. And once we arrived in this system, it was unsafe.]

Lando wanted to rage at the inadvertent admission that Han’s failure to communicate had been deliberate.

Luke nodded, his tight expression accepting the apology in Chewie’s eyes and voice. “I know it wouldn’t have been your choice, Chewie. That’s all right.”

The Wookiee placed one of those large paws on Luke’s shoulder. [It’s not all right, young one. But Han needed time and distance to understand his heart.]

Hello, what have we here? An interesting choice of words. 

Still, however much as Lando wanted to hear more about Chewie’s opinions regarding Han’s motivations, his primary concern now was finding a secure location to plan their next move. He cleared his throat. Somebody had to keep the priorities straight.

“Are we good to go then?” He looked over his shoulder, estimating how long it might take someone to come looking for them. “You said something about a vehicle and a plan?”

[Yes, we should go. We have no time to spare. We must find someone.]

But Luke didn’t move.

“Chewie?” 

Already starting to walk in the direction Chewie had indicated, Lando looked back at the two of them when he heard the change in Luke’s voice. He sounded young. Vulnerable. For a moment the distorted shadows from the moons confused the signal running along his optic nerve; he could’ve sworn he saw a third person standing between the two, like a living link, the three of them bound together as inextricably as the three moons orbiting this planet. He blinked, and again it was only Luke and Chewbacca.

“What’s the matter with Han?” Luke asked.

[Did they beat him? If they hurt him I will rip the arms from those responsible so they can never hurt anyone again.]

Luke had shaken his head. “No one beat him, Chewie. They’re treating him as well as can be expected under the circumstances. I meant… he looks like he’s been sick. Has he?”

So he’d noticed Han’s appearance after all.

[Ah. Sick, no. But something troubles him. Perhaps he will tell you. He won’t tell me.]

Something in the way Chewie considered his words before speaking had made Lando think the Wookiee knew exactly what troubled Han. 

Before Luke could ask further questions, Chewie led off through the thickly wooded park at a fast clip. While they walked Chewie sketched out a story similar to the one Han had given them, interspersed with reiterations of concern for Han’s well-being.

[ …saw at once I could not help Han.]

That couldn’t have been easy for Chewie to admit. Wookiees don’t do helpless very well

[There were too many officers and too many innocent onlookers. I did the only thing I could, and followed Risco to a tavern. And then I set out to find you.]

“I’m glad we managed to find each other.” 

Lando wondered if Chewie would take Luke’s comment as an invitation to discuss their abrupt departure from Corellia.

[Cub…]

Luke looked up quickly, words tumbling out thoughtlessly. “He was hurting pretty badly, wasn’t he, Chewie?”

At the Wookieee’s nod, Luke sighed. “He never let me know. I wish he’d talked to me before leaving like that. Maybe there was another way—”

[There was no other way, Luke.]

Luke kicked some leaves out of his way, probably more to vent feelings than because they were obstructing his path.

[He left because he didn’t want to hurt anyone more than was necessary.]

“Well, he failed,” Luke said with grim humor.

And there it was, hot and bitter resentment, the raw sentiment Lando had been unable to draw from Luke. 

[Han did not intend to leave pain in his wake. He did not intend to injure you.]

“Don’t you think I know that, Chewie?”

The Jedi scuffed his boots through another leaf pile, and Lando found the child-like action oddly endearing and touching. As though Luke were close enough to Chewie to let his guard down completely.

“I just wish he hadn’t left so abruptly. Or at least kept in touch once in a while.”

Chewie looked down at Luke with evident affection and lowered his voice to a soft rumble, obviously intending his next comment for Luke’s ears only. 

Lando smiled grimly at Chewbacca’s precaution. Not that he wanted to eavesdrop on something Chewie obviously considered a private matter, but he couldn’t avoid it without being obvious. 

Besides, he was curious. It had to be about Han.

[There were—are—things that need to be said between you and Han.] 

Luke’s steps faltered. “Like what?”

[That I cannot say. Only you and Han know that.]

Luke offered no response to that, only a thoughtful glance at Chewie. Almost as if he didn’t quite know what to say.

Very interesting indeed. So Chewie has an opinion on Han’s feelings toward Luke, too. Guess I’m not crazy after all.

The bond of friendship forged between Han and Luke early on had obviously been a powerful one; in those sad, endless days after Bespin, preoccupied with other matters, he’d failed to recognize just how strong the pull between them was.

Back then Chewie had been as frantic a Wookiee as Lando ever wanted to see—blaming himself for events, worrying about Han, concerned about Leia and the ‘cub’. He’d startled Lando one evening as they reworked the _Falcon’s_ comm panels, with the comment that of course the cub was slowly withering, without Han to support him. According to Chewie, Han was the only person who’d been with Luke from the beginning, the bridge between his old life on Tatooine and his new experiences with the Rebel Alliance; the older, wiser, more experienced brother who served as guide and friend through some pretty turbulent years. Of course Luke had come to rely on Han.

But now, with the clarity of hindsight, Lando saw that Han had also come to rely on Luke just as much. Or maybe even more.

Definitely food for thought to last him through the short hike to the modest, nondescript sedan parked in the shadow of an enormous dark-leafed ahorn tree

* * * * *

An hour later, armed with Chewie’s description of Risco the betrayer, his lightsaber hidden under a jacket, Luke went into a rundown tavern in the city’s industrial sector alone.

[This is one of the safe locations where we conducted business,] Chewie had assured them. [We could always find him here. I think it’s best you go in alone, cub.] What went unspoken was Luke’s uncanny ability to disguise his appearance by means of the Force. 

Lando couldn’t hide his grin at Luke’s sigh. Old habits seemed to die hard where Luke was concerned. Chewie still called him ‘cub’, and Han obviously hadn’t been able to resist throwing out the occasional ‘kid’.

Tempted as Lando had been to accompany Luke, he agreed to wait by the vehicle with Chewie and the droids. His injury and lack of rest was telling on him by now; if trouble developed he would most likely be a liability to Luke, rather than an asset. 

“I still think we’re wasting our time, Chewie.” He shifted his weight to ease the stress on his bruised knee and offered another entry into their continuing mild disagreement. “If Risco’s got any sense at all, he’s either running or in hiding.”

[He may not be here, that is true. But he is a fool and a braggart and this is as good a place to start as any.]

They stood in silence for a short while, leaning against the rear wall of the building in the deepest shadows of the litter-strewn alley. Lando coughed and turned his head aside as a stray kreedog happily scratched at a hillock of organic refuse and exposed a pocket of trapped, rancid gasses.

“Gagh! Explain to me again why we’re skulking about in this nasty alley.” A sentiment Threepio apparently heartily endorsed, to judge by the vigorous nod of his head and a quick retreat to the other side of the vehicle to join Artoo.

[Because Risco may not be as cooperative as we might wish, and the sight of a Wookiee threatening a Pontradan would probably draw attention on the street.]

“I’d say that’s an understatement.”

Chewbacca chuckled, a low rumble which didn’t sound entirely good-humored to Lando’s ears, and he noted that the Wookiee’s position effectively trapped him in this one spot, unless he chose to step into one of the noxious piles of garbage around them. And the way Chewie remained stolidly oblivious to Lando’s distress made him think the situation rather more deliberate than accidental.

He’d learned over the years that Chewbacca didn’t always perceive events and people the same way humans did; a misunderstanding that endured too long might not be a good thing, especially under the present circumstances. “Is there a problem here, Chewie?” He ticked off possible reasons against a mental list: could the Wookiee be blaming him for Han’s predicament? Undeserved blame had become an old companion by this point in time—he should be used to it by now.

Chewbacca bared his fangs in what was most assuredly not a smile and snarled. 

[Why did you lie to Han?]

An unthinking protest rose to his lips. “What makes you think I lied to Han about anything?”

[I have scented you and Luke. You are not mates. Why did you confirm the rumors to Han?]

So that was it. Lando laughed shortly. “Because he made me itch.” How to explain the complicated rush of mixed emotions living in his heart at the moment he’d let the jibe fly? Resentment, irritation, frustration, affection, worry… 

[You should not have done this, Lando.] Why was it Chewie always called him by name, and never by some fond nickname? [You made a mistake. Han will not be pleased when he learns the truth.]

 _Yeah, tell it to your TreeMother, Chewie. However displeased Han’s gonna be, it won’t be half as bad as Luke’s reaction_. No, he didn’t want to think about Luke’s reaction to his little joke at all.

[Luke will not like it either.]

“It was just a joke, Chewie. A joke. You’ve heard of those, haven’t you?”

[There are some things you cannot joke about. Even the youngest of Wook cubs know better than to jest on matters of the heart.]

“I’m not a Wook cub. I’m a human adult, and adult humans do joke about such things. Frequently. You never objected to it before.”

[It never mattered before.] 

The comment made Lando close his lips before a hasty retort could find its way out. _It never mattered before._ He snorted. Hadn’t the Wook done more than his fair share of mocking Han about his romantic entanglements over the years? But now that he thought about it, he remembered the phrase 'matters of the heart', especially the way Wookiees used the term, implied far more than a friendly, or even physical, relationship. Did Chewie mean to suggest that Han was _in love_ with Luke? For all his straying thoughts about sexual attraction between Han and Luke, the idea of love hadn’t really occurred to Lando. At least not the kind of love Chewie meant. 

He entertained the possibility that his odd little vision in the park hadn’t been a trick of moonlight after all, but some kind of manifestation of a future not yet written. After all, he’d seen enough strange things with regard to Luke not to dismiss anything out of hand, and he certainly respected Chewbacca’s instincts.

But…

Ridiculous. I’m not Force sensitive in the least. No way I could conjure up an image like that. I’m probably hallucinating from the painkillers or something.

“Your imagination’s working overtime, Chewie, that’s all.” He tried to dispel any suggestion of supernatural influences with his deliberately emphatic response, but the end result was the same. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was trying to convince the Wookiee or himself. 

It was on his lips to remind Chewie there was no need to reveal his little peccadillo to Luke when a rectangle of light spilling across the waste heaps signaled the opening of the tavern’s back entrance. 

They both tensed in anticipation, but it turned out to be a false alarm. More garbage landed with a wet splat and the kreedog whined and sniffed cautiously, its tail thumping happily against the uneven pavement.

Unrelieved apprehension sang along Lando’s nerves, that itch making itself felt between his shoulder blades again. “D’you think this is taking too long, Chewie? He’s been in there a good twenty minutes already.” 

Not that he doubted Luke’s ability to discreetly and efficiently detach Risco from his companions and surroundings without arousing any suspicions, of course, but these smugglers were men and women who had little to lose by disposing of an inconvenient nuisance. Damn this ridiculous protective instinct anyway—he seemed to have had more than his fair share of that tonight. Unfortunately, Lando was relearning one of the universal truths of life—waiting games were only enjoyable when you were the one calling the shots. 

[The cub is very resourceful. We will wait a little longer.] Although Chewie’s words might have been intended as reassuring, the words came out a little more clipped than usual, a good indication that the Wookiee felt as uneasy as Lando did. 

Serves him right if he is. It’s largely his fault I’m not in a comfortable bed by now, with a full dose of Pont Gollo’s finest under my belt, instead of standing knee deep in garbage.

Of course, in that case he would’ve felt even more frustrated and insecure than he did now.

“Chewie, did you ever get the feeling there was something more behind Risco’s threats than just his own anger over losing a good thing? Some kind of patriotic fanaticism?”

Between the Wookiee’s retelling what had happened to him and Han in minute detail, and Luke’s repeated assurances that Han was all right for the time being, Lando’d had no opportunity to mention his conversation with Muya Sadika to either of his companions. Suspicions hovered in the back of his mind, a haphazard tangle of confused instincts and feelings. The idea that Risco had been a conspiracy of one was certainly less bruising to his ego than the thought that someone connected to the summit had masterminded a convoluted plot. Not once had he suspected any delegate of such deadly private agendas, not even the clearly separatist Muya. He didn’t want to think he’d so grossly misjudged the entire situation.

[Risco is as short on brain power as he is on height. It’s possible he’s someone’s dupe, but it’s equally possible he acted on his own. And that is why we’re waiting in the back alley.] 

Despite the circumstances, Lando couldn’t help but grin at the quiet humor in Chewie’s words. He wondered if he’d been forgiven yet. Probably not, given the Wookiee’s priorities. Chewbacca would walk through fire for Han, everybody knew that. That was why Luke had spent so much time reasssuring him of Han’s condition that he’d neglected to mention Lando had been shot while saving Luke’s life. What the hell was it about Han anyway, that inspired such fierce loyalty? He certainly hadn’t been immune to it himself, back on Bespin.

“Han mentioned somebody named Campion. Said he thought he might’ve had some influence over Risco.”

[Some influence?] Chewie’s sardonic snort yanked a reluctant grin from Lando. [Risco is completely under his spell. But Campion is far from stupid. It would be too easy to trace the connection between them. More likely the fool thought of it on his own, as a way to prove his loyalty and impress Campion.]

“Han said Risco was always hinting at having inside information about the trade embargo. What kind? And did it come from Campion?”

[Oh, it had to come from Campion, as it was all political information—the kind of gossip that only someone who attended the negotiations would know. I heard it said that Campion is distantly related to one of the representatives to the summit.”

The tight feeling in Lando’s stomach began to cramp in earnest. “Don’t suppose you know which one?”

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or frustrated when the door opened and put a stop to their conversation.

This time a figure, small even by Pontradan standards, stepped out into the alley, cursed loudly when he tripped over the scavenging kreedog and would have fallen into a particularly unattractive pile of refuse if the man behind him hadn’t moved with supernaturally fast reflexes.

The kreedog yelped and withdrew to a dark corner. 

“Chewie?” Despite the fact that his eyes must have still been dazzled by the transition from light to dark, Luke looked straight at the Wookiee, a silent, motionless shadow within a shadow.

Chewbacca rumbled low in his throat and lunged forward with amazing speed for someone so large. The Pontradan shrank back and surely would’ve broken and run if Luke hadn’t kept a firm grip on his arm. 

“I think we need to take this someplace else fast.” Luke moved toward the speeder parked just beyond Lando. “A full complement of Security Department vehicles just pulled up out front. I think they're getting ready to raid the place, and I’m sure they’ll be sending a team back here, too.”

One look at Risco’s horrified expression convinced Lando that the only reason he’d decided to cooperate with Luke was that he figured a Jedi had to be the lesser of two immediate evils, but hadn’t counted on a package deal which included an angry Wookiee.

Lando felt the knot of tension in his belly twist a little tighter. The entire situation only continued to deteriorate, and he was fairly certain that if he were caught in a suspected smugglers’ hangout with a probable smuggler he’d quickly become very familiar with the inside of a Pontradan detention cell. And so would Chewie, and perhaps even Luke. He silently reassured himself that things couldn’t possibly be as hopeless as they’d been back in Cloud City, when his carefully structured life had disintegrated under the combined weight of the Empire and the Rebellion in full conflict. He’d come out on top then; he’d do the same now.

Chewie stopped just short of bowling over the little Pontradan, grumbled his acknowledgment and quickly wrestled the two droids into the rear cargo compartment over Threepio’s indignant protests. Luke had the vehicle moving before Lando shut his door, and he had to smile at the bizarre image they doubtlessly presented—two fairly disheveled and grimy standard Humans, two somewhat affronted droids, an enormous, angry Wookiee and one terrified and tiny Pontradan, all jammed into a decrepit hovercar.

Risco, wedged as far away from Chewbacca as he could get in the back seat, babbled in his native tongue, a nervous, breathless and nasal invocation that resembled a cross between prayer and confession. The cerebral flashlearn language lessons Lando had undergone in preparation for this mission served him well, for he could understand most of the Pontradan’s words.

“What’s he saying, Threepio? He’s too agitated for me to follow very well.” 

As far as Lando knew, Luke hadn’t taken the flashlearn lessons and spoke not a word of Pontrashi—sometimes he wondered just what the Jedi might truly be capable of. He slanted a sideways look at Luke’s profile, clearly limned in the faint glow of the control panel’s displays. 

“Oh, certainly, Master Luke. Low Pontrashi is essentially the same as—”

“Just the short version for right now, thanks, Threepio.”

“Oh, of course. Citizen Risco is disclaiming responsibility for…”

Under cover of Threepio’s monologue and Risco’s impassioned jabbering, Lando whispered, “Mostly he’s apologizing to Chewie and begging him not to rip his arms off…”

“Can you blame him?” 

Lando was uncertain whether Luke meant Chewie or Risco. 

“… and importuning Chewbacca to refrain from physical dismemberment.”

“Thanks, Threepio,” Luke called, sparing a small smile for the overly helpful droid.

[Fear is an excellent motivator.] Chewie leaned toward Risco in a threatening manner. [I’m enjoying this.]

Lando turned as far to the side as he could, and laid his left arm along the seat back. “I’d rather he didn’t die from a heart attack before he tells us what he knows, Chewie. Do you mind?”

Chewbacca shot an angry glare at Lando but eased back. 

“Any ideas where we should go?” Luke checked the mirrors and Lando automatically did the same—they seemed to have gotten away clean, without anyone following them.

[The detention center to free Han.]

Lando and Luke exchanged grim expressions at the Wookiee’s uncharacteristic naivete. In the rush of reunion and reassurance they’d neglected to give Chewbacca some basic facts. 

“We need a plan before we can do that, Chewie.” Although Luke’s comment was entirely sensible, his expression directly contradicted the rationality of his words.

Lando couldn’t help but smile. Since when has that ever stopped us before? “What we need is information, so we can make a plan,” he corrected mildly. 

Chewie folded his arms across his chest. [What haven’t you told me, cub? Why is this not simple?]

Lando pre-empted Luke’s answer. “Because it’s beginning to look like somebody very high up in the negotiations is involved.”

Luke threw a startled look his way but said nothing in front of Risco; the tightening muscles in his jaw hinted at some angry questions being held back.

“Not only that, Chewie, but they found the _Falcon_. And your cargo,” Lando added, hoping to divert Luke’s attention away from his own omissions.

The distraction worked, for Chewie rumbled something obscene and guttural.

Risco managed to tear his eyes away from Chewie long enough to extend an oddly beseeching expression toward Luke.

“You are the Jedi. You promised to protect me, not hand me over to an enemy,” Risco finally squeaked out in passable Basic. 

[Coward,] snarled Chewie. [Now the Betrayer knows how it feels in turn.]

Luke shook his head. “I promised only to help you leave the club safely.”

“You tricked me.”

The hell you did, Luke. You get more interesting by the minute.

Luke remained glacially calm, splitting his attention between driving and conversation. “I hardly tricked you, Citizen Risco. I merely pointed out I had a vehicle waiting out back. You never asked if I was alone.”

Lando grinned at Risco’s unsubtle start at the polite form of address. Somehow, he had the feeling Risco had little experience with courtesy. And he couldn’t help but admire Luke’s ability to walk the fine line between truth and lies—it was an odd little quirk both Han and Luke shared, come to think of it—and more than ever he regretted the never-to-be-realized illicit possibilities of a business partnership with Luke.

Luke steered the vehicle into a conveniently inconspicuous parking area and turned around to face Risco. “The only reason I didn’t leave you for the officers is because I think you set my friend up tonight and I want to know why. I can’t help anybody if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Risco’s hand hovered over the door control, clearly scenting freedom within his grasp. He sneered. “Why should I cooperate with you? You’ll only turn me over to security anyway after you get what you want.”

Lando shrugged his shoulders and smoothed his expression into his most sincerely earnest mask. “Prefect Rothu strikes me as a pretty thorough fellow. Maybe that raid tonight was a coincidence, and maybe it wasn’t. Somebody’s bound to talk, if they haven’t already. You know the type as well as we do —they’ll say anything to save their own skins.” He waited a moment for his words to percolate through Risco’s brain and reach that visceral level of fear and self-preservation. 

“Better to have Jedi Skywalker interceding on your behalf, don’t you think? I’m not all that familiar with your legal system but I hear—” 

“I will tell you nothing!” Risco triumphantly slapped his hand down on the door control, shoved against the door and looked astounded when it refused to open. 

Chewie chuckled softly, menacingly, as he pulled Risco away from the door. [Fool. I told you he was short on brain-power.]

“We found you in less than an hour, Citizen. How long d’you think it will take the security prefect to locate you once he starts looking? None of your former associates will help you. Probably not even your buddy Campion.” 

Lando hid his grin when Risco turned a rather sickly shade of yellow at Campion’s name. “You’re on your own. The only people who might be able to help you are sitting right here.”

Artoo chirruped long and loud, a sound Lando would’ve interpreted as exasperation in a human.

Threepio translated the comments. “Artoo is correct when he points out that Master Luke is a most honorable man and his reputation for integrity is unmatched. He suggests that any justifications for your actions would be more likely to be accepted coming from him.

“Especially since he was your intended victim,” the droid added, prompted by another of Artoo’s indignant bleeps. 

There was no doubt in Lando’s mind that the astromech droid’s resentment rivaled Chewie’s. Artoo was fiercely protective of his master. 

The Pontradan glanced at Luke’s unforgiving countenance and looked back at Chewie, who lifted his upper lip to expose very unfriendly fangs and leaned closer in an unmistakably threatening move.

“If I tell you what I know, what will you do with me?” 

Naturally the little womprat was concerned with his own skin first—never mind that he’d tried to kill the same person he was now appealing to for protection.

“Chewbacca won’t harm you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Lando met Chewie’s exasperated gaze. [Don’t promise what you can’t deliver, cub,] the Wookiee snarled softly.

Luke ignored the interruption. “Justice can be served in many ways, and I have to know the truth of the situation first before I can make any decisions. And so do you, I think.” 

Risco bowed his head, and his shoulders slumped in an unmistakable sign of surrender that crossed all racial boundaries. “I suppose you’re right.” He shrugged. “I don’t have much choice now. I’ll help you. Just keep him,” he nodded toward Chewbacca, “away from me. I don’t trust him at all. But I guess I don’t have any choice about trusting you.”

Clearly gathering his courage, Risco drew in a deep breath. 

_Finally_ , Lando thought. _We’re finally going to get a clue or two about what’s going on here._

* * * * *

Luke stopped the hovercar in a suitably deserted parking lot around the corner from the security center—Lando figured the lot was undoubtedly filled with bureaucrats’ vehicles during the day—and turned around to address the others. “Probably best if you stay put for right now, Chewie, until we get this mess straightened out. Your walking into the detention center while there’s a warrant out for your arrest might spark an unpleasant reaction.”

Lando suspected Luke’s concern was most likely prompted by unspoken anxiety to get Han released as quickly as possible rather than any real worry for Chewbacca’s awkward situation. The Wookiee rumbled his reluctant agreement and Lando didn’t need to be fluent in any six million forms of communication to recognize Chewie’s eagerness warring with his own common sense. 

“Artoo, Threepio, you come with— ”

“Don’t you think it would be best if I remained here with Chewbacca, Master Luke? After all, if by chance a member of the local authorities happens by before you return, Chewbacca might require my mediation and translation services.”

Lando tried, and failed, to hide his smile at Luke’s resigned expression. 

“That’s a good idea, Threepio.” Lando enjoyed watching Luke validate the droid’s patent excuse with a few words and soothe the Wookiee’s affronted emotions with a quick head rub. “I’m sure Chewie will be glad to have your company.”

Most people, he was positive, would find the effort Luke put into droid management pretty foolish.

“There’s no need for you to put yourself out, Lando. Why don’t you wait here with Chewie and Threepio? Artoo and I will go in with Risco. You’ve been through more than enough tonight as it is.”

Lando shook his head as he levered himself out of the vehicle. Although returning to the security offices to face an irate Rothu ranked pretty low on his list of things to look forward to, staying behind to hear Chewie examine his violations of trust in great detail was an even less appealing option. He was certain he heard the Wook’s chuckle as he closed the door and couldn’t help but calculate just how quickly Luke would turn from solicitous to infuriated once he and Han started comparing notes. 

Assuming a confident, nonchalant attitude was entirely instinctive on his part. “What, and miss all the fun? Can’t wait to see Rothu’s face when he hears Risco’s story and has to release Han.”

Vindication was going to feel so sweet, especially after all the unsubtle insinuations the prefect had been slinging around earlier. Receiving the inevitable apology would be sweeter still. Not that Ambassador Calrissian would ever admit to a taste for retribution, of course. The prospect of Rothu’s atonement almost made him forget his sore shoulder, ruined cape and exhaustion. 

“Prefect Rothu is going to arrest me as soon as he hears what I have to say,” moaned Risco as they turned the corner and headed toward the PonSec building. “He’ll never believe Director Muya is behind this.” Already struggling to keep up with the taller humans, he deliberately slowed his steps, and quickly fell behind Luke, looking for all the worlds like he was undergoing a serious change of mind. Artoo wheeled into position directly behind Risco, rather like a herder trying to nudge a straying nerf back into the flock. Lando kept a nervous eye on the Pontradan—he trusted the guy about as far as he could throw Chewie, despite Luke’s air of confidence. 

In all honesty, Lando still didn’t understand why Risco had agreed to cooperate, unless the Pontradan was smarter than he seemed and playing his own game. The story of greed, betrayal and misplaced loyalty Risco had described to them only proved him to be a venal, selfish fool; he’d be crazy to volunteer a tale which all but condemned him as a would-be assassin. 

Chewie was right, this guy is pretty short on brain-power. Only a fool would’ve fallen for this Campion’s line… only somebody eager to cloak his own corrupt nature with the purity of moral superiority would snatch at such thin straws. 

But between Chewie’s sense of smell, Luke’s heightened Jedi awareness and Lando’s own instincts, they were convinced they had the truth, at least as far as Risco understood it. Han’s fate rode on their trust in a self-described patriot who shunned outside interference in Pontradan matters, and Lando was none too comfortable with that state of affairs.

“He will as soon as he rounds up Campion,” Luke soothed, although the look he shot at Lando revealed still simmering irritation over Lando's failure to mention possible intrigue in high places.

Don’t like being managed very much, do you, Luke?

“You were obviously victimized and used as a tool for someone else’s political ambitions. Campion’s the link between you and Director Muya. Cleres is a reasonable man and I’m sure he’ll be inclined toward clemency once he hears the whole story.”

Predictably, despite looking like he was tightly controlling internal turmoil, Luke was able to pacify Risco’s concerns with quiet reassurances and gentle reminders of his diminished honor should he choose to renege on their agreement. Honor, hell, Lando thought rebelliously. The Pontradan was as cowardly a mercenary as he’d ever met; Luke’s efforts to convince the smuggler that personal integrity was no longer out of his grasp had proven almost inspirational. Lando abstracted himself far enough from his feelings to wonder if there was a touch of envy mixed into that reaction, because he didn’t think he could’ve managed to bring Risco around in such short order.

You’re good, Luke, whether you wanna admit it or not. Funny, but I never saw you play this kind of game with so much skill before—makes me wonder why. Han, has to be Han, because I’ve never known you to edge so close to manipulation before. Looks like there’s a lot at stake here for you, more than just a friend’s life. Would you try so hard if it was me sitting in that jail cell?

He didn’t think so.

They managed to shepherd the shaky Risco into the building. The same officer was still on duty at the reception desk, observing their progress across the lobby with a frown on his face. In the area directly behind him, several officers briefed a detachment of well-armed guards. Lando wondered if this was the same security detail Rothu had tried to foist on them a couple of hours earlier. He hadn’t bothered to note their individual faces at that time.

“Jedi Skywalker.” The desk officer greeted Luke cautiously, if courteously. “What brings you back here so late?”

Luke appeared entirely oblivious to the air of tension radiating from the young Pontradan, but Lando knew that was most unlikely. “We have some information for Prefect Rothu and arranged to meet him here. May we speak to him?”

The guard pressed the remote that allowed them to enter the containment area and pointed down a side corridor where light spilled from an open office door. “Last door on the left.” 

“D’you get the feeling that fellow isn’t very happy to see us?” Lando murmured, feeling the guard’s stare on his back as they moved down the hallway.

Luke cast a quick, sideways—almost longing, if Lando had to put a word to it—glance toward the locked entrance of the detention area before answering. “Yeah, lot of tension here right now. Something’s going on.” His hand strayed toward his lightsaber.

I sure hope we’re not tempting the fates by coming back here like this, because if Risco decides to take care of himself first, we could end up in that cell with Han. And then you just might get the chance to have as many face-to-faces with Han as you want, Luke. 

They heard voices as they approached the indicated office, and Lando clearly recognized Rothu’s truculent tones, although the archaic variant of High Pontrashi was less familiar to him. From the hollow sound of the indistinguishable response, the prefect was engaged in a comcall. With a female, Lando judged because of the higher pitched voice. Maybe he’s trying to explain to a wife just why he hasn’t made it home yet. The idea of the contentious Rothu trapped in a domestic squabble definitely made him smile.

Risco clutched Luke’s arm. “You will keep your promise? You will speak on my behalf?”

Luke smiled and patted the Pontradan’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. As long as you do your part, I’ll do mine. My word as a Jedi. This has to be pretty embarrassing for Rothu and his agency. I’m sure he’s anxious to get it resolved as quickly and quietly as possible.”

Risco appeared unconvinced, and Lando couldn’t really blame him. For different reasons, Lando had a similar problem with relying on others. Much as he trusted Luke and Chewbacca, he’d been responsible for himself far too long to feel comfortable leaving his fate in anyone’s hands but his own. Another reason why he was here in the station rather than waiting in the speeder. 

Luke waved them to a stop a courteous distance away from the open door of what must be Rothu’s office. The clipped words and rising volume on both ends clearly indicated an argument of some sort, although the formal language was too difficult to translate. Probably wasn’t a family member after all, in that case.

[No… worry. … failure… turn to take action. Solo… escape… won’t succeed… find Wookiee… taken care of… ]

The subliminal hum that always accompanied any comcall ceased, followed by an angry, particularly vile curse in Low Pontrashi. Lando grinned at the prefect’s show of temper. Even securely locked up, Han could be counted on to raise a law officer’s blood pressure. Risco went wide-eyed with fear and tried to sidle back toward the lobby.

Lando grabbed him with his right arm and instantly regretted the move. He felt the jolt of sharp pain clear through to his skull plates, but hung on to the Pontradan, preventing his escape. So run away, you little coward, and let a good man die just so you can save your skin. 

Prefect Rothu appeared in the doorway. “I thought I heard something. Come in, Jedi Skywalker. Ambassador.” 

By all the gods, it was going to feel good to make that arrogant son-of-a-Sith eat that patronizing attitude.

“You’re just in time to say a few final words to Captain Solo. He’s being transferred to our maximum security facility.” Rothu’s tone sounded more than a little contemptuous. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think we weren’t taking the situation seriously.”

There was another man in Rothu’s office, perched on the edge of the desk, holding a blaster aimed at the newcomers as they entered.

Lando’s heart leaped from his chest into his throat, and then dropped precipitously into his belly. He barely heard Artoo’s soft whistle under Risco’s horrified gasp. “You!” the Pontradan managed to say in a strangled voice. 

Swallowing hard against the sudden pressure in his chest and fighting a surge of nausea at this rude reversal of fate, Lando exchanged a quick glance with Luke. That was all it took to confirm their shared suspicion, that this must be Campion. Which meant they’d been deceived all too well—taken in, used and made fools of. 

Lando wondered if that said more about the Pontradans’ duplicity and ingenuity or his own complacency.

Before Luke’s Jedi mask of composure snapped into place, Lando glimpsed stunned shock and fury—and a quickly suppressed movement, as though Luke had to restrain himself from physically attacking Rothu. And was that his imagination, or did Luke’s lips silently form the word ‘Han’ before sealing themselves into a thin, severe line? 

He supposed he ought to feel vindicated that not even Luke had suspected Rothu might be up to his sagging jowls in this convoluted political plot, but that was small comfort when their lives were on the line.

“So it wasn’t just Muya after all,” he muttered softly.

Rothu laughed and stepped back so Campion had a clear line of fire—straight at him—and ignored the cowering Risco. Now why had he been singled out…?

“Director Muya is an idealist. An impractical idealist who believes she can achieve the goals of the Separatist Party through peaceful negotiation and political means. You see how successful her methods were.”

Rothu gestured rudely toward his desktop companel. “She is… displeased at tonight’s turn of events, but she failed and now it is my turn. And I can promise you that I will not fail.”

So that had been her on the other end of that conversation.

“We would have preferred my House cousin succeed at her task, but only fools don’t have backup plans,” Campion said softly in Basic.

The prefect settled against his desk, apparently at ease, but Lando’s mother hadn’t raised a fool. He knew better than to assume either man would be caught off-guard by any sudden moves on his or Luke’s part.

“I’m impressed how quickly you moved, Skywalker. I didn’t expect you to track Risco down at least until tomorrow. And by then it would have been too late.” He turned to his companion. “The Wookiee, perhaps?”

“Had to be,” muttered the other man, not taking his eyes off Luke and Lando. He’d switched into the local Low Pontrashi patois, one of the flashlearn dialects Lando had studied. 

“At least now we know who the stranger in the tavern was, the one who managed to slip Risco out under your nose. I told you to make sure that didn’t happen. You were supposed to get him out of the way before he could talk to anyone. Just another smuggler who disappeared in all the confusion after the raid.”

Campion shrugged. 

Rothu leaned over and pressed a button on his desk panel. “Lieutenant?” A muffled voice filtered through the link. “Assign a patrol to the immediate area. A large, well-armed patrol. We have reason to believe the Wookiee is in the vicinity of this building.” Rothu studied the small group in front of him. “Possibly accompanied by a protocol droid. I want both of them.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lando saw Luke stiffen, and watched his hands ball into fists and then slowly uncurl, but otherwise show no reaction to what amounted to deadly danger for Chewbacca. Lando tried to reassure himself that a Wookiee against even a large and well-armed PonSec patrol would still be even odds.

“You’re wasting your efforts, Prefect. You won’t find them.” Luke’s voice was low and controlled—and all the more menacing because of the icy control.

Rothu disconnected the com circuit and exposed his sharp, jagged teeth in cruel imitation of a smile. “Make no mistake, Jedi, we will find them. The Wookiee is the last loose end. I’m very curious, though, to learn how he evaded our patrols earlier, in the park.”

Lando recalled the clusters of enormous, ancient trees in the park. Nothing like the wroshyr trees on Kashyyyk, of course, but definitely a handy escape route for an arboreal creature such as a Wookiee. Chewie didn’t have those claws for nothing.

“Ah, it doesn’t matter. Even if we don’t find him tonight, by tomorrow there will be no place on this entire planet where he could find refuge.”

Loose end? Tomorrow? Lando didn’t like the sound of that at all. His small jerk of startlement drew Rothu’s attention.

“Curious, Ambassador? Wondering perhaps at your own fate?” Rothu was obviously enjoying his cat-and-mouse game; a game he played a little too well for Lando’s comfort level. 

Luke let out his breath explosively, hand going to the hilt of his lightsaber, and Campion interrupted, apparently edgy. He nodded toward Luke’s lightsaber. “Aren’t you going to disarm them?” 

“No. Much as I want to see that lightsaber in action, I’m sure Skywalker knows how foolish it would be for him to draw his weapon right now. He might be able to take us but he can’t fight every officer in the building and he won’t risk the others. Especially not his lover, so keep your blaster on the ambassador. Calrissian will take his cue from the Jedi. Keep a sharp eye on him, though. I imagine he’s pretty handy with that concealed blaster.”

Damn right I am, and first chance I get I’ll prove it to you. And you’re a fool if you’re counting on Luke’s protective instincts toward me. Luke knows I can take care of myself, bum shoulder or not.

He’d watched Luke practice with his ‘saber enough to know the Jedi could easily overpower Rothu and Campion without so much as a single shot fired. The only reason Luke hadn’t swung into action yet was because he was waiting for the right opportunity. 

“Besides, in a few moments it will be very important that they be seen to have their weapons on them.” Rothu dropped his gaze to the lightsaber hanging from Luke’s belt. “After your death, Jedi, I believe I will keep it as a trophy, a symbol of the dangers of Consolidation.” A small smile curved Rothu’s lips as he locked eyes with Luke.

Risco shrieked again. 

Sith’s Seven Hells! Even if Lando had half expected it, he’d learned over the years that he reacted badly to death threats. Just one of those things he’d never quite gotten used to. 

Luke straightened his posture and tensed even more, if that was possible. 

“Have you lost your mind?” Lando demanded, but his thoughtless, angry outburst was ignored in favor of Luke’s quieter comment. How in all the worlds Luke was managing to hang on to even a shred of control was beyond him—his expression definitely conflicted with his sensible words.

“You can’t hope to get away with this. There are others in your government who will—”

Campion laughed. “Cleres? That incompetent fool? This will destroy his reputation before he has a chance to act.”

“The New Republic will demand—and perform—their own investigation into our deaths.”

Rothu snorted disdainfully and Lando fought the urge to wrap his hands around that thick neck and squeeze.

“Let them investigate all they want. They will find corrupt politicians and private agendas within the present administration. Looking further will only uncover collusion, personal grudges and violence on the part of their ambassador and a former general. Your republic is weak—without proof of deliberate wrongdoing they will not act.”

Lando knew Rothu was correct, as far as it went. He was all too conscious that the government might let his death alone slide by, but they’d never sit still for Luke’s death under suspicious circumstances. Their sole Jedi… the man who’d faced down a Sith Lord and an emperor. They’d never stop digging. Clearly, Rothu’s separatist leanings had rendered him incapable of seeing beyond his own cultural biases.

“You’re wrong, Prefect.” It was only by sheer strength of will that Lando kept his voice calm and his body still. “The New Republic investigators won’t be fooled by provincial subterfuge. You won’t succeed.”

“You think not? It won’t matter to either of you.”

Lando was reminded of the previous night’s half-joking conversation with Han, except that he’d never expected the danger to come from this direction.

Rothu turned his attention to Risco but spoke to Campion. “Having an innocent citizen killed during the escape attempt should work even better than simply having him disappear, don’t you think?” He turned an evil smile on Risco, who whimpered and tried to hide behind Lando. 

Although Lando knew his cape was beyond repair by this time, he really didn’t appreciate those sweaty, clutching hands. 

Campion’s sneer was even less appealing than Rothu’s worst effort. “Yes, I like that. You have the privilege of becoming a martyr to our Cause, Citizen. Even in death you will serve. Maybe we’ll even put up a statue in the park, to remember our fallen hero.”

Rothu’s desk com buzzed. “Prefect, the prisoner is being brought out now. You wanted to be notified.”

The guy sure was ugly when he smiled, Lando reflected.

“I’ll be right out. Take all precautions.”

Lando cursed himself silently in twelve different languages for allowing himself to be outflanked so badly and readied himself to take advantage of even the smallest opportunity, knowing without looking that Luke did the same. 

Campion gestured with his blaster. “Move. Back out to the lobby.”

Luke obeyed, and much as it galled Lando to admit through his actions that Rothu had predicted correctly, he followed Luke’s lead. He kept his hand on Risco’s arm, hoping to silently communicate that he should follow along and not try anything foolish just yet. Just as Luke had let Lando take the initiative at the negotiating table, it was his turn to let Luke take the lead now. Damn but they were a good team! He swallowed that bitter pill of regret over lost opportunities. 

By the time they reached the reception area, Lando belatedly realized Campion was no longer with them. The security detail, with Han in the center of the six-man escort, emerged from the detention corridor at virtually the same moment. 

“Han.” Luke barely breathed the name. Any lingering doubts Lando’d had about Luke’s feelings toward Han vanished in that instant. 

“Hey, kid.” Han called across the lobby, managing his usual, cocky grin. “Here to see me off, huh?” His eyes widened when he caught sight of Risco, half-hiding behind Lando. “Fast work, Luke.”

Intent as Luke was on Han, Lando didn’t think he noticed when Rothu’s hand strayed to the remote on his belt and pressed a button. An instant later, the entire building fell into impenetrable darkness.

He only had a split-second of time to realize Campion had responded to Rothu’s signal before someone shouted over the sounds of a scuffle, “The prisoner’s loose!” and suddenly everyone was moving. 

“Emergency lights!” someone else snapped simultaneously. Rothu, Lando thought, and wasn’t surprised when the override command failed. The gloom was relieved only by the barest glimmers of star shine and reflected artificial light coming through the skylights. 

“I’ve got him!”

“Where is he?”

“Over there!”

“He’s got my blaster!” 

And then the darkness was interrupted by blaster fire. A lot of blaster fire, from all directions. Obviously the energy damping fields had failed along with the lighting system. And that meant the door locks and security shields were down, too. 

Lando dropped to the floor, yanking Risco with him, and flicked his wrist to palm his holdout blaster. A beam strafed the spot where his head had been only an instant before. “Stay down,” he said, uncertain whether Risco could hear him over ricocheting energy beams and frantic shouts. “And head for the door. Get out if you can.” He didn’t have time to worry about whether it was the smartest thing to do, letting their only witness escape, but escaped had to be better than dead, he figured. 

Was it his imagination, or were those energy beams coming a little too close to just be random fire? He remembered seeing a pair of goggles on Rothu’s belt—probably a pair of night vision goggles. No doubt the Pontradan had set them up, and they’d walked right into this tidy trap. Gods! He was tired of dodging blaster bolts. What had he done to deserve this? And where in all hells was Luke? Or Han, for that matter?

Someone yelped in pain and thudded to the floor. 

“Guard the doors!” Risco again, bellowing orders. “It’s a jail break attempt!”

Someone came crawling up behind Lando and he turned, every sense straining to identify the intruder.

“It’s me,” whispered Luke. “Han’s right behind me. We gotta get out of here.”

“First thing I’ve heard in a while that made any sense to me,” he muttered.

Han slid into position alongside Luke, half on top of the smaller man in the snug space. “Any convenient garbage chutes around?” He reached across Luke to hand a full size blaster to Lando. “Here. This’ll work better than that toy you’re carryin’.” Lando didn’t have to see Han’s face to know he was grinning. 

“I’m gonna get my own back.” Han cautiously rose to his feet.

“No!—” Luke choked back his whispered protest because Han was already moving. And for the first time ever, Lando heard Luke Skywalker curse. Pretty impressive repertoire, actually. He’d obviously learned a lot from Han over the years.

“Lando, they got the front door covered. Can’t get out that way, but I saw a disguised door behind Rothu’s desk in his office. Must lead to some kind of secret passage or exit. I think that’s gonna be our only chance to get out of here alive. Where’s Risco?”

He didn’t waste time cursing his own error. “I sent him to the front door. That must’ve been him I heard collapse.”

Luke’s answer came fast and low. “I’ll send Artoo your way. He should be able to get the door open. I’ll try to find Risco and cover Han’s escape.”

“Don’t be a hero, Luke. Get yourself out, too.” 

“Stop worrying about me, Lando, and don’t wait for me. The important thing is to get yourself clear, find Chewie—”

If he’s still waiting for us. Or even alive. We could be walking into an even worse mess out there… 

“Yeah, I know, and find Cleres. He’s the only one gonna be able to stop this mess now.” He gripped Luke’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Luke.”

“I will. You, too,” came the whispered response. “Now go!”

Lando suddenly remembered the young lieutenant who’d boasted about the security features of this brand-new building on their earlier visit tonight—probably one of the frenzied, half-panicked officers now trying to blow his head off.

He grabbed hold of Luke’s arm before he could scuttle off.

“Luke!”

“Why are you still here?” Luke shoved him toward the hallway leading back to the offices and began to crawl off in the opposite direction.

“I just remembered there are stun gas canisters in the walls—” But Luke was already gone and it was unlikely he’d heard Lando’s whisper over the appalling noise of blasters, shouts and scuffles. 

Probably didn’t matter anyway. If the reserve power was down, there might not be any way to set them off.

Lando took a moment to get his bearings. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light enough that he could distinguish the dark mouth of the corridor from the lighter gray of solid walls and crawled toward it on his hands and knees. Every instinct screamed to turn around and put that blaster to good use, to help protect Han and Luke, but just like on Bespin, he found himself trapped between two unpalatable options.

Once he was in the corridor he rose to his feet and moved as cautiously as he could. Behind him the reception area was still in chaos, and he didn’t think anyone noticed his escape. The hallway in front of him was pitch dark, and for all he knew, Campion was waiting for him in the darkness. He leaned against the wall for a moment to catch his breath, and promised himself a week’s undisturbed rest once all this was settled. 

Artoo rolled toward him, his own lights dimmed to avoid attracting attention. He’d never come across a droid with such an amazing capacity for independent thought as this little astromech machine. He’d often wondered if Artoo had always been so unique, or if constant association with a Jedi had somehow altered his programming in some strange way. 

“Let’s go, Artoo,” he said softly. “We need to find the back door.”

The little droid beeped cheerfully and led the way back to Rothu’s office. Lando followed the small mechanical sounds of a droid in motion and trailed his left hand against the wall, as much as for a physical reference in this void as anything. The office was empty, as it turned out, but Lando had no time to spare for gratitude. Either Campion had gotten past them in all the confusion, which Lando doubted, or he’d gone through that hidden exit. Hidden doors. Secret panels. He couldn’t suppress the thought that his life had turned into some kind of romantic holo-adventure ever since Bespin.

“Luke said it looked like there’s a hidden door behind Rothu’s desk.” He stumbled over the words, struck by an even greater sense of unreality than he’d experienced so far. “Got any idea where this mysterious door is, Artoo?”

They needed to work fast, for he could now hear the hum and clash of Luke’s lightsaber, which meant he’d given up on concealment and opted for moving as fast as he could. And that meant Luke was going to be in this office and needing a way out within a minute or two—with the entire PonSec complement hard on his heels. He wondered if Rothu was enjoying the demonstration as much as he’d thought he would.

The little droid wheeled to a stop in front of a section of old-fashioned bookcase—ah, hells, why not a fireplace?—shone a small but powerful illumination beam on the area and wheeped in a tone clearly intended as frustration.

For the briefest moment, panic closed his throat. “Don’t tell me it’s electronically operated.” If that were true, they were all dead… He began pulling books—real parchment books, he couldn’t begin to imagine how much these antiques must be worth—off the shelves, feeling for hidden catches. “There’s got to be a manual mechanism somewhere, Artoo.” He talked out loud to the droid, trying to reason his way through this. “Campion must’ve left after shutting off the power, which means this has to operate manually. And the control has to be someplace easily accessible, because nothing’s out of place that I can feel. So maybe it’s—”

“Come on, Lando, try the wall sconce or the statue. Didn’t you ever watch the Cast a Ghostly Shadow holoseries when you were a kid?” Han sounded out of breath. “And hurry it up, will ya? Risco might be short but he’s pretty solid.”

Both Lando and Artoo swiveled around—he wasn’t entirely certain, but Lando thought Artoo seemed just as startled as he was.

“You tryin’ to blind me here, short stuff? Shine that thing someplace else, will ya?”

In the short instant before Artoo rotated his dome back so the light once again shone on the bookcase, Lando noted with relief that Han carried an unconscious Risco over his shoulder. 

“Nope, I never rotted my brain with that kind of drivel, Han.” He reached for the small light sconce hanging next to the bookcase. What the hell, didn’t have anything to lose by trying the—

The door swung open almost noiselessly, a welcome light shining in from the claustrophobic passageway. The light puzzled Lando until he noted the self-powered glow bulbs hanging on the tunnel walls at regular intervals. 

“Uh huh! Least it’s drier than a garbage masher.” Han laughed and shouldered his way past Lando. “What’d I tell ya? Statue or wall sconce. Artoo, you wait for Luke. He might need your help jamming the door or something. C’mon, Lando.” Despite the fact that Han was nearly staggering under the weight of the unconscious Risco, the Corellian retained his usual practical disposition.

Well, Lando supposed happy reunions were over-rated anyway.

He was half a dozen steps into the passage before he realized he’d surrendered control of the situation to Han. He was only a dozen steps further when he heard Artoo rolling along behind him, burbling blithely. 

“Hey, what are you doin’ here? You’re supposed to be helping Luke.”

“Luke didn’t need any help,” said the Jedi as he rounded the first corner. “I was able to get those gas canisters to release, so they’ll all be sleeping for a while. Thanks for the reminder.”

Lando hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until this very moment. He supposed there wasn’t any point to asking Luke how he’d managed to trigger the emergency system without even a glimmer of power.

They fell into step, Artoo trundling along behind them as quickly as possible.

“I couldn’t risk setting them off while any of you were in the building.”

“Oh, you couldn’t risk setting off the gas while us poor mortals were in the building, but you didn’t mind exposing yourself to the danger?” Lando asked. “If you’d gotten a lungful of that gas you’d be snoozin’ right alongside Rothu—and then we’d all be in a bigger mess than we are now. You especially!”

Stars above, he sounded exactly like a possessive, protective lover.

Luke smiled and kept on walking. “No, that’s all right. I can hold my breath long enough to make it down a hallway. Did Han go on ahead?”

Yeah, great, Luke, just ignore me now that Han’s here.

“You mind havin’ your lovers’ spat later, huh, kid?” Han had apparently overheard their conversation and paused to let them catch up. Despite the easy tone, Lando didn’t miss the way Han’s lips quickly tightened around the last word, as if the Corellian were trying hard not to let anything else slip out.

Luke looked at him, puzzled. “What?”

Han rolled his eyes, shifted the Pontradan’s weight a bit and started walking again. “This guy’s gettin’ heavier by the second. He’s all right now, but I don’t think me luggin’ him around like this is doin’ either of us much good. C’mon, move, you two! I wanna find Chewie and get the hell off this dirtball. Oh, yeah, ‘n thanks for getting’ me out of there.”

Luke stood his ground. “Han?”

“Now what, Luke? You need a big show of gratitude?” The Corellian sounded thoroughly exasperated, although Lando knew well enough what was driving Han’s abrupt hostility. Unfortunately, Luke didn’t, and Lando figured it was pretty unlikely the younger man would let Han’s mood slide. “Stow it ‘til we’re out of here, will you? Damn! There’s a warren of these tunnels down here. Your instincts tell you which is the fastest way out?” Han stood in the middle of an intersection.

Lando had the sneaking suspicion Han was as relieved as he to discover a genuine, immediate problem to distract Luke from whatever he’d been about to say.

Luke stared at Han, frowning slightly, as if he were trying to crawl inside that stubborn brain and rummage around for the truth. Then he shook his head slightly and waved them to silence. He stood at the mouth of each tunnel in turn, with the intent, withdrawn expression of someone listening to an inner voice and finally pointed to the right tunnel. “I think Rothu uses this one a lot. I get a strong sense of him in this tunnel. It heads toward the Assembly House. Maybe the two buildings are connected.” He shifted to study the straight-ahead tunnel. “I smell fresh air coming from this one. I think it must come out somewhere in the park. Campion went that way not long ago, I’m sure of that.”

“And this way?” Lando peered down the third tunnel, which looked in far worse repair than the other options. The walls were crumbling, it was poorly lit, and from somewhere in the distance he heard water dripping.

“Hasn’t been used in a long time. But Chewie’s waiting for us in that direction.”

We hope.

“Easy choice,” Han muttered. “Come on.” He started into the passage, but Luke quickly caught up with him.

Even from his disadvantaged position bringing up the rear, Lando didn’t miss the tension that seized Han when Luke took hold of his arm. Or the missed step that nearly brought the Corellian to his knees.

“I’ll take point. Might need this,” Luke patted the lightsaber at his hip, “to light the way.”

Han relented, stashing his undoubted turmoil behind a practical façade. “Good idea. Go on.” He flattened himself as much as possible so Luke could slip past him.

Was it his imagination, or did that moment of body contact between Han and Luke seem to take a little longer than necessary?

* * * * *

“I can’t believe we have to go back in there,” Lando complained, glaring somewhat sullenly toward the entrance to the dank tunnel they’d exited not five minutes earlier. He spared a moment to glance down regretfully at his midnight blue vinesilk suit and brushed ineffectually at mud spatters. While not quite as obscenely expensive as the now tattered cape, it had been one of his favorite suits—his lucky suit, up until today. He lifted each foot in turn to critically examine his shoes, irreparably scuffed and stained from splashing through the puddled, debris-laden subterranean passage.

Definitely time to reconsider the annoyance factor of Luke’s droids—Artoo in particular. Blasted machine had wandered off at some point during that trek through the tunnels and no one had noticed his absence until they were well on their way. The astromech droid was as close to delusional as a mechanical could be, with that crazy hero complex. Almost worse than Luke. Almost.

Han strode to the crumbling edge of the hole in the ground, neatly sidestepping the protective grille Chewie had literally ripped loose from its duracrete frame and tossed aside in an amazing display of Wookiee strength. It hadn’t taken long to discover why this particular tunnel wasn’t maintained as well as the others. At some point in time it had caved in, and they’d found themselves at a deadend. They’d been standing there in a forlorn bunch, looking up at the grated opening two meters above their heads and debating the merits of climbing through the grille or retracing their steps when Chewie’s head had appeared in the aperture. He’d complained their voices carried far enough to alert the law on Pont Kes and demanded to know why they couldn’t use the front door like anybody else. No one had been particularly surprised to discover the tunnel ended only a few meters from where Chewie and Threepio waited with the speeder, and they’d all been greatly relieved to learn that there’d been no sign of any heavily-armed Wookiee-hunting patrols. The lieutenant probably hadn’t had time to dispatch the team before all sith broke loose.

Lando had watched the happy reunion between Han and Chewbacca with a certain amount of nervous anticipation, but the Wookiee obviously understood now was not the time to bring up personal matters. Either that, or maybe he was taking some vindictive pleasure in letting Lando hang in the breeze. Chewie was a very compassionate fellow in many ways, but not when he suspected actions injurious to Han.

“You don’t have to come, pal. Stay here with Chewie ‘n ride herd on Risco. I’ll help Luke figure out where Artoo disappeared to.” The Corellian flashed one of those irritating smirks in Lando’s direction as he sat down and eased his legs over the lip of the cavity in preparation for the long drop to the tunnel floor. “ ‘Sides, Cleres might be more likely to listen to you more’n he’d hear out Goldenrod by himself.”

Oh, by all of Corellia’s moons, Han! Can’t you come up with a better excuse than that? Hell, it’s obvious you wanna be alone with Luke.

“I beg your pardon, Captain Solo,” Threepio said, “but I believe Elder Cleres would be far more likely to accept an explanation from a truly unbiased source such as myself rather than Ambassador Calrissian, whose credibility has already been questioned by the local authorities. Elder Cleres has said on more than one occasion how impressed he was with my programming and abilities. I’m quite sure I’ll have no difficulty convincing him to come to his offices in the Assembly House as Master Luke requested.”

Lando’d always said these two droids were more human than most humans, and Threepio’s smug, self-important assertion only proved the point. Behind him Chewie chuckled ominously. Although the thought of having a brief respite from the night’s madness was more than a little appealing, he knew it would be a mistake to leave this particular flank unprotected. _Oh, wonderful, Han. Just what I want. Leave you and Luke together to sort out my little joke and have plenty of time to plot your revenge, while I have to listen to Threepio’s ‘I told you so’s’ and worry whether Chewie’s gonna rip my head off for lying to you._

“Nah, I’m coming along. Somebody’s gotta keep you two in line. Threepio’s got this end taken care of.” Much as he resented the implication that a droid could be as brilliantly persuasive as he, accompanying Han and Luke was definitely in his own best interests here. Let Han frown all he wanted and leap to all the wrong conclusions as only a Corellian could, Lando wanted to be present to turn the inevitable accusations aside and justify his actions. He couldn’t quite isolate why all this should matter so much to him; he just knew it did. 

“Sure you’re up to it?” 

Lando scowled at the insinuated insult disguised as concern. “I’m fine,” he snapped. 

“Suit yourself.” Han shrugged and flashed another one of those grins. “What’s the matter, Lando? Don’t trust Luke? Or is it me?”

Chewie guffawed out loud but said nothing.

Han leaned over to peer into the darkness beneath his swinging feet. “Hey, Luke, heads up!” And then he shifted his center of gravity and vanished from sight. 

Lando looked up at the sky, barely flush with pre-dawn light, and sighed. He edged closer to the gaping hole and decided he’d fulfilled his quota of stubborn foolishness for one lifetime.

[You’ll only postpone the inevitable, you know.] 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he found himself muttering, and wondered again at his own strange defensiveness.

[You’re being foolish. You’re in no condition to accompany them, and you will only earn further resentment when they learn the truth. As they will eventually.] 

Lando winced as he overbalanced and had to catch his weight on his right arm. 

“Really, Ambassador, Chewbacca is entirely correct. You’re in no condition to accompany Master Luke and Captain Solo.”

He wondered what Threepio made of the Wookiee’s vague allusions to ‘the truth’ and blessed whatever gods might still spare a random consideration for the unfortunate lifeform called Calrissian that the droid at least wasn’t asking interminably nosy questions.

“Come on, Lando,” Han called up from below. “Or we’re leavin’ without you.” He heard footsteps splashing away and had to grin at the obvious prompt. Han was as subtle as ever.

“Yeah, yeah, throttle back.” Han had a point, though. That stun gas wouldn’t hold Rothu for very long, and then he’d be after all of them with a vengeance. And he definitely had nothing to lose this time around. Escaped prisoner, suspected murderer and smuggler, renegade Jedi… nobody’d blame the guy if they all ended up dead. Rothu’d be a godsdamned hero, in fact.

Lando checked out the vague shapes below him, closed his eyes and hoped he wouldn’t break a leg. “Here I come.” Something caught his fall and eased him to the ground with only the gentlest of jolts. When he opened his eyes, he saw Luke, smiling at what was probably a rather dazed expression on his face.

“You used the Force on me, didn’t you?” he accused, visually checking that his feet were actually on the ground and not floating in the air.

“Guilty.” He gestured Lando forward. “Let’s go. Han’s itching to move.”

The sight of Han shifting impatiently from foot to foot brought back a memory of that night on Endor, when they’d celebrated their victory over the Death Star and Imperial fleet. He’d seen Luke come toward them, exhausted but smiling, and paid little attention to the joyous reunion between Leia and Luke until Han’s odd behavior caught his eye. The Corellian had stood a few paces behind Leia, smiling awkwardly, almost… shyly… and jittery with undisguised eagerness. Anxiously awaiting his turn to welcome the returning hero home. One of those elusive fragments of memory that had meant little at the time, and only gained significance in the light of later developments.

“’Bout time,” Han grumbled and set off as quickly as he could, lighting their way with the hand luma they’d appropriated from the speeder. They walked in silence, Lando in the middle and Luke behind him, picking their careful way over uneven flooring and around chunks of fallen ceiling. The trip back seemed shorter than their first journey down this same stretch, and Lando estimated it had taken them less than ten minutes to reach the main branching. Little more than half an hour had elapsed since they’d fled the security offices, but it was a pretty safe bet somebody was stirring by now. He wondered just how many people knew about this little bolthole… and how many of them they might encounter down here.

“What do you figure, Luke? Artoo went back to Rothu’s office to slice into his files?”

Luke nodded. “That’s definitely my first guess. You know he can’t resist a challenge.”

Toddling trustfully back into Rothu’s lair to rescue a straying droid seemed like a pretty damned foolhardy venture to Lando, yet one glance at Luke’s determined expression confirmed they would walk right into the rancor’s den. Of course he’d already known there was no way in all hells Luke would ever abandon his faithful companion. Not only would Artoo would be a mine of information for unscrupulous slicers—if there was anything in this galaxy guaranteed to make Luke Skywalker furious, Lando figured tampering with his beloved droid would be it. The way Lando saw it, Artoo was the only confidant Luke had.

Jealous? Of a droid? Nah, not a chance.

Han laughed shortly, obviously interpreting his apprehensive expression correctly. “If you’re nervous, ol’ buddy, you can always head down that tunnel.”

Typical Han, always pushing the boundaries. The game dated back years, those subtle and profound bluffs mortared into the foundation of their friendship. “I’m being smart, friend. Somebody needs to protect our backs.” _And you’d know it, too, if you weren’t so damn busy trying to score one over me._ But much as he resented Han’s attitude, to be fair he knew it only resulted from his own earlier impulsive words.

“Hate to admit it, Luke, but Lando’s right. This is a really bad idea,” muttered Han, switching off the now unnecessary luma and looking down the passage leading back to Rothu’s office.

Luke shot him an irritated glance. “Nice time to bring that up, Han. I can’t leave Artoo behind. Just not an option for me.” He started down the corridor. “If you think it’s such a bad idea you can stay here or run for cover. I’ll get Artoo.”

Lando was not all that surprised to hear the poorly veiled note of disappointment in Luke’s voice. No doubt that the tension resonating between Han and Luke was fast winding up tight, a giant spring ready to either release or break under the strain. Either way, an explosion was coming. He’d seen more emotion from Luke in one evening than he’d seen in the past year, thanks to Han.

Han grabbed Luke’s arm as he brushed past. “That’s nothin’ I ever wanna hear from you again, Luke,” he said roughly, his voice betraying the thin edge of anger. “I don’t quit in the squeeze ‘n I don’t turn my back on my friends. That’s just not an option for me.”

The two men faced off, and Lando fervently hoped there wasn’t any sewer gas or anything like that circulating in the tunnel, because surely the sparks flaring between Han and Luke would set it off in that case. 

“You don’t turn your back on your friends, huh?”

Luke had to know this was neither the time nor the place for a detailed discussion about past resentments, and the simple fact that he couldn’t let the opportunity pass was a pretty strong indicator of intense feelings.

“No, I don’t. I’m here, aren’t I? I coulda just lifted and not given you any warning about Risco.”

“I’m not talkin’ about that, Han. What happened last year? You left without a word, never even tried to contact me. I had to hear about it from Leia after the fact.”

Luke was nothing if not honest—raw grievance resonated in every word. When Han dropped his gaze, Lando knew the words had struck a nerve in the Corellian’s conscience.

“Yeah, well… I guess I wasn’t thinkin’ straight back then.”

Whoa! Since when does Han Solo admit to error?

“No, I don’t think you were. You could’ve sent a message, at least. Then, or any time since then.” 

Luke relaxed his aggressive posture and laid a hand on Han’s arm. “I was worried about you, Han. We all were. Leia said you hadn’t been yourself for a while before you broke it off.” It was Luke’s turn to lower his eyes, and in that subtle shift of expression Lando recognized an admission of fear and loneliness, a swing from universal to personal concerns. “I didn’t even know if you were still alive. It’s hard to live with that kind of silence.”

Han stared down at the hand resting on his jacket sleeve as if that touch was the only thing anchoring him to the moment. And when Han covered Luke’s hand with his own, larger one, Lando blinked at the astonishing, unprecedented tenderness in the gesture.

“I’m sorry, kid. Never meant to hurt you. I just had some things to work out.”

Han’s voice had softened as much as his expression, and the touch lingered just a few seconds too long to be merely apology. 

The only reason Lando heard Luke’s whispered response, doubtlessly intended for Han’s ears alone, was his intense focus on the scene playing out in front of him.

“Did you get them worked out?”

“Yeah. I figured everything out. Too damn late.” The words broke the spell of the moment and Han straightened, dropping his hand and shrugging off Luke’s touch. He assumed a business-like attitude and glanced over at Lando, resentment clearly flaring across his face.

“You figured everyth—” Luke caught back his own words with a soft gasp as he studied Han’s expression. “Too late?”

Luke frowned, brows drawn together in concentration while he obviously tried to bridge the gap between words and expressions. A sharp pain twisted in the pit of Lando’s belly when Luke exhaled shakily and he knew they both saw the same emotion shining in the Corellian’s eyes, leaking into the abrupt, restless attempt to mask his sudden vulnerability.

“Too late?” Luke repeated, and shook his head. “Not necessarily, Han.” Then he grinned hugely, the first genuine smile Lando had seen since this entire fiasco had started. The grin lit up the tunnel like a small novaburst and Lando’s heart cramped in his chest at the transformation from somber, controlled Jedi to a barely recognizable, breathlessly happy and eager youth.

Jealous? Of Han? Hell, yes!

Han shrugged his shoulders again, and Lando figured if he wasn’t having any trouble reading the Corellian’s thoughts and the way he was trying to distance himself from his emotions, Luke wasn’t either.

“I’m not interested in threesomes, kid.”

Oh, kraat. There was no way in Sith’s hells that Luke was gonna leave that alone.

Luke’s grin faded with Han’s words, his forehead creasing in apparent shock at the crude comment. Or maybe it was confusion from all the mixed signals Han was sending

Lando knew it wouldn’t take him long to figure it out, though. Ten. Nine. Eight. He gave Luke until five to add everything up. Seven. Six. Come on, Luke, it can’t be that hard. 

Luke caught his lower lip with his teeth. “Are you—” His voice thickened and he had to stop to clear his throat. Five. Right on schedule.

Great Jedi Ghosts, was Luke blushing?

“That joke’s getting pretty lame, Han,” he finally groused, his tone precisely balanced on the fulcrum of anger, hope, embarrassment and apprehension. 

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry if that offended your finer sensibilities.”

Whatever retort Luke had planned—and it must’ve been a pretty hot one from the expression on his face—was lost in Artoo’s cheerful whistle. They all turned to watch the little droid roll toward them.

Nice timing, Artoo. 

“Artoo! You know better than to wander off like that. What were you up to?” Despite the scolding tone, Luke dropped to his knees to give the droid a quick, hands-on going over. “Are you all right?”

Lando could make no sense out of Artoo’s lively chirps and bleeps, but he didn’t need a direct translation to recognize the droid was just as smug and pleased with himself as Threepio had been a few minutes earlier. Really, it was preposterous to be upstaged constantly by one droid or the other, but he couldn’t summon much resentment. He remembered too many times when Artoo had saved the day because of his independent action, and grinned. Considering that the little fellow had managed to postpone the inevitable moment of ugly exposure he supposed he ought to feel grateful. Although the moment of truth couldn’t be very far off at all by now…

Over Luke and Artoo’s heads he tossed a glance in Han’s direction and found the smuggler studying him thoughtfully.

Threesome? he mouthed to Han and nearly laughed at the pained expression he received in response. The glare in those dark eyes said as clearly as words, ‘you’d better be damned good to him or you’ll regret it’. Oh, yeah, Han had it bad.

Luke straightened up, apparently reassured as to Artoo’s condition and seemingly oblivious to the silent exchange of hostilities between Han and Lando.

Han crossed his arms across his chest and frowned. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. He sliced into Rothu’s personal files and found the evidence we need to prove this is all some kind of twisted plot to discredit the Republic and grab personal power, right?”

Luke didn’t even glance at him, but addressed his answer to Lando. “I don’t know precisely what he found, but apparently the backup power has been restored and he managed to pull Rothu’s protected files and communication logs. We’ll have to find a safe terminal so he can download the files, but that shouldn’t be too hard. Probably lots of interesting things in those files.”

“Good.”

Lando wondered briefly how Luke justified such an invasion of privacy in his own mind—personally, he had no problem with any of this, but Luke tended to interpret issues of consent a little more stringently.

Luke still refused to look at Han. “Artoo confirms that tunnel leads to the Assembly House like we thought. With any luck Chewie and Threepio have already gotten in touch with Cleres and we can meet him and turn over all this evidence. And then you can be on your way.”

“Luke…” Lando hadn’t seen an expression like that on Han’s face in a very long time, maybe never… Vulnerable. That was the word he wanted.

“Yeah?” Damn the eager anticipation in Luke’s voice in spite of that angry expression.

“Ah, forget it.” Han waved away whatever he’d planned to say. “Let’s get goin’.”

Luke finally looked at him, his jaw set. “That’s twice you made it sound like Lando and I are lovers, you know.”

“Yeah, so?” Han’s voice and expression tightened up just enough to be noticeable.

“You really think…” Luke’s voice trailed off.

Prompted only partially by a desire to postpone exposure of his careless words, Lando interrupted. “Why don’t you two talk about this later? We really should get out of here. No telling how soon Rothu or somebody else will figure out how we got out of the building and come after us.” Artoo swiveled his dome and burbled an emphatic agreement.

Luke patted Artoo’s dome absently, as he might a beloved pet dog. “It’s all right. I just wanna get something straight here.”

Lando supposed Luke’s preternaturally heightened senses would warn him of any presence other than their own within the tunnel system, but still, the sensation of defenselessness made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Han scowled. “If this is gonna take a while, maybe we should get comfortable.” But he remained standing, arms folded protectively across his chest, clearly bracing himself to hear unwelcome news. “Say what you gotta say, then, so we can haul jets.”

Luke glanced at Lando as if to ask for assistance and Lando spread his hands apart in a ‘don’t look at me, you started it’ gesture. Really, if it weren’t for the fact that his two closest friends were going to tear him limb from limb over this misunderstanding, he’d be enjoying himself. Matter of fact, they ought to thank him for bringing the situation to a boil. Who knew how long they might’ve stumbled around in the dark, pining away after each other, without his little lie to serve as catalyst?

His entrepenurial spirit briefly contemplated a matchmaking service: Lando’s Lonelyhearts. Umm, maybe not. Calrissian’s Connections?

So why did he feel so blasted guilty?

“If it’s that gossip…”

Han shook his head.

“It’s all right, kid. I know what you’re tryin’ to say. I understand. I’m all right with it. Can we go now?”

Lando barely managed to stifle a snort. Yep, it sure was obvious that Han Solo was just fine with the notion that he and Luke might be lovers. And it was almost painful to see Luke awkwardly fumbling for words to resolve such a simple situation—as if Lando needed further proof of Luke’s feelings. Aw, to hell with both of you! You’re both fools—probably deserve each other.

“I don’t think you understand, Han.”

Had he not lived at the heart of this misperception, Lando decided he would’ve been hugely amused at the sight of Han Solo and Luke Skywalker carefully averting their eyes from one another and sidestepping direct admissions of mutual interest. Like a pair of love-struck and awkward teenagers…

“I understand perfectly, kid. Lando made it real clear just what he is to you.”

Well, there it is. He met Luke’s startled gaze and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Lando?” For a split second Luke seemed entirely disoriented, with an almost child-like expression of betrayed trust that pierced straight through Lando’s conscience.

“Can I help it if Han leaps to conclusions?” Pretty lame defense, but it was actually close to the truth. It had been Han’s own interest in Luke that led him to assume Lando would share that same desire.

“You told him—” Oh gods, another priceless expression, that serene Jedi countenance buried under a tidal wave of confusion and shock. Where’s one of those mini-imagers when you need one? He wondered briefly which bothered Luke more—the nature of the joke, or the misdirection itself.

He lifted his hands in a gesture of discharging blame and winced at the throb from his shoulder. “I told him nothing, Luke, except that you and I had been spending a lot of time together on diplomatic missions. He drew his own conclusions.”

Of course, his intent had been to push Han into making just such an assumption, but that was neither here nor there. 

Han pushed away from the wall, his body strung tight with tension. “You—you—you—” His posture clearly conveyed a mixture of anger, relief and wonder.

Lando couldn’t help it. He laughed at Han’s helpless spluttering and Luke’s shocked expression, and knew he’d pay dearly for his amusement. But it’d be worth whatever punch Han was about to throw, simply to have reduced him to such an inarticulate state. 

The Corellian surprised him. No punch landed. No blistering, angry words followed. Instead, Han stood there, a grin spreading across his face as he greedily checked Luke out from head to toe.

“No, ah, no…” Han lifted his left hand and waggled it in a questioning gesture. 

Luke shook his head, the same relieved grin spreading across his face. Totally focused on Han to the exclusion of Lando, Artoo, or even their hazardous circumstances.

“Anybody?”

Again Luke shook his head, his grin growing wider by the instant. The tension sparking between them mutated almost instantly into something far more dangerous—in Lando’s opinion—than anger. Where’s that sewer gas when you need it?

Lando felt a momentary irrational surge of irritation that his interference had been so quickly dismissed. 

Almost as if he’d read his mind, Han glanced at him. “I ain’t done with you yet, pal. But there’s more important things right now.”

There certainly were, but Lando realized his definition of urgency differed vastly from Han’s when Han took a long step forward, wrapped his arms tight around Luke and kissed him. Hard.

And it hurt. Far more than he ever dreamed it would, to see the frantic, heedless desperation fueling that kiss on both sides; to recognize on a visceral level the depths of passion here. It hit Lando like a blow to his kidneys, a surge of envious resentment that begged for violent release. He wanted to hit something… someone—anything!—to relieve the pressure.

Luke held tight to Han, clung to him in the manner of someone given his heart’s desire and yet terrified that he will wake up to find it all just a dream.

Lando couldn’t watch and turned away, his own cheeks hot from—what? Embarrassment at such an unabashed display of need? Shame at his own inadvertent cruelty? 

But turning away didn’t help, for the image of their fervent kiss stayed with him, imprinted on his optic nerve, recurring like a brilliant flash of lightning. 

He supposed it wouldn’t have bothered him quite so much if he hadn’t been the unwitting agent of this entire, ridiculous circumstance. Maybe.

Then again, maybe not.

Somebody made a soft sound of utter satisfaction—he wasn’t sure who—and his own knees nearly buckled at the answering, demanding growl. So much passion there, eclipsing everything else—his presence, the threat of pursuit, their goal of escape…

Artoo beeped thoughtfully, and when the kiss continued on… and on, the beeps turned to annoyed whistling.

It took forever—only slightly less than an eon—before Han and Luke eased apart far enough to turn their heads toward the impatient droid.

Lando had a feeling the image of Han and Luke pressed close together, cheek to cheek, identically dazed and dreamy expressions on their faces, was going to stay with him for a very long time. He cleared his throat experimentally.

“Not that I want to be a wet blanket or anything, but do you suppose we could get out of here before thirty justifiably angry and well-armed security officers come pouring through that tunnel and slaughter us?”

Artoo swiveled and started for the tunnel leading to the Assembly House, tooting a peremptory command to follow.

Han grinned and pulled away from Luke, slowly, reluctantly. “I guess we can finish this later, kid,” he murmured.

Luke loosened his grip on Han’s collar even more reluctantly. “If we have to.”

Unless Lando did something quick, these two were obviously going to stand there staring at each other with entirely too much hunger showing in their eyes until it was too late to retreat.

“No, no, that’s quite all right. You can thank me later. Wardrobe replacements will be particularly welcome.” He physically took hold of Luke’s shoulders and shoved him after the disappearing droid. 

Han’s glare warned him off touching either of them again, but he obediently turned in the proper direction. “Oh, yeah, I’m definitely gonna thank you later, Calrissian. Soon as I figure out what to do.”

“Cash is always useful,” he quipped, not letting Han’s threat faze him in the least. He knew Han too well—the guy couldn’t carry a grudge to save his life. If he hadn’t reacted by now, he wouldn’t. And he’d done them a favor anyway. All’s well that ends well, Han.

Which reminded him that if they didn’t hustle to get their evidence to somebody who could use it, they might just end up not-so-well on this Force-forsaken planet.

Luke had caught up to Artoo and strode past him, moving quickly, as if only now recalling the urgency of their circumstances. Han and Lando followed.

This tunnel was in good condition and even Artoo was able to keep up with their pace. The passage ended at a sealed, heavy door, with two more tunnels branching right and left.

“What’cha think?” Han inspected the touch pad panel by the door. “Is the prize behind Door Number One?”

“Definitely.” Luke laid a hand over the touch pad.

“I could probably hot wire it.”

Lando nearly laughed at Luke’s dubious expression. “Um, Leia told me about the Endor bunker. Let’s try this first.” 

Luke’s face grew blank, the way it did when he was concentrating deeply with the Force. He’d seen that expression only a few times, like when Luke was meditating or practicing with his lightsaber—a look that seemed to entirely dissociate Luke from his surroundings, although nothing could be further from the truth. Lando had discovered that purely by accident one morning, when he could’ve sworn Luke was at least a million miles away from him in meditation. He’d come to Luke’s room to remind him they were running late for the morning session and turned away, unwilling to disturb an apparent trance. Without opening his eyes, Luke had suggested he wipe the evidence of his breakfast from his mustache before leaving their suite. Ever since then he’d had a healthy respect for Luke’s Force-enhanced abilities.

A draft of cool air touched the back of his neck and he instinctively turned to face the tunnel they’d just traversed. He shivered, drawing Han’s attention.

“What?” 

“I think somebody’s coming. There’s air moving in the tunnel.”

The door slid open at their backs.

“Come on, you two, stop wasting time.”

He never would’ve expected the light, teasing note to Luke’s voice. As if what had passed between him and Han had altered the situation from desperate to merely inconvenient.

“We can block the door from the other side—that should give us some breathing space to see what Artoo found. Rothu’ll have to go around to another entrance and that’ll take time.”

Han nodded. “I’ll take care of that.” The Corellian waited until they were all in the basement, then casually blasted the control panel into slag. The heavy door slammed shut.

He looked at Luke, an incredibly self-satisfied smirk playing about his lips. “Um, Leia told me about the Death Star.”

Lando felt the snicker rising in his throat and tried hard to choke it back. And failed. He, too, had heard about the infamous miscalculation, although Leia had certainly made the daring swing-across sound very exciting and dramatic.

Luke obviously attempted to control a smile but Lando could see it lurking at the corners of his mouth. “And me without my handy-dandy stormtrooper utility belt, too. Let's just hope we don't encounter any unexpected bottomless pits.”

Before the Jedi turned away, Lando caught a glimpse of something darkening those blue eyes—a promise to deliver on pay back, in private. A quick sideways glance at Han confirmed he’d not only received the silent message, but answered it with one of his own.

That sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach came back and Lando began to wonder what he’d managed to stir up here, and just where it would take all of them. 

And how Leia was going to react. He wondered again if she knew, or suspected, the direction of Han’s feelings, and found himself cursing geometry. No matter how firmly scientists asserted that triangles were the strongest and most balanced of structures, when it came to human emotions they were flimsy constructions indeed.

At least he already had a handle on Chewie’s feelings.

* * * * *

Avoiding the lobby guard had been a simple matter. The Assembly House was deserted and silent at this early hour of the morning, the guards sleepy and even the cleaning crews had long ago completed their efforts. By unspoken agreement, they headed for the executive offices on the third floor via the back stairs, and Lando discovered he was absurdly grateful not to have to cross that open forecourt space again. Superstitious as only a gambler can be, he knew he’d stared infinity in the face there and didn’t care to try his luck again.

Han spent most of the climb cursing his inability to contact Chewbacca. He clearly chafed with impatient frustration, grumbling over the Wookiee’s infinite variety of possible fates. A few steps behind the Corellian, Lando dismissed the grumbling as Han’s more-or-less transparent attempt to cope with some transformed expectations; he spent most of the climb worrying over the ramifications of this new, perplexing situation. Han and Luke. Together. Not just as friends, although they were certainly that. Lovers.

If he’d learned one thing in life, it was that passion—no, love—was fragile. Love demanded delicate handling. Was Han capable of such delicacy, such commitment? I don’t want to see Luke get hurt. 

Lando examined the topography of the relationship between Han and Luke. Yes, it was true that Han had unmatched instincts where Luke was concerned—but Luke was unlike anyone Lando’d ever met before. Unlike anyone else, period.

In many ways he felt sorry for the young man so penalized by a vengeful roll of the genetic dice. Thousands of Jedi had been stewards of the Old Republic, and unfair though it was, the identical obligation for a New Republic now rested on a single pair of shoulders. Jedi. The word alone became a curse of servitude.

Lando knew the significance the Alliance had assigned to the potential Jedi; he worried about the additional pressures levied against the trained adept. Far too many would define the man by the role, grateful to depend upon him for guidance and reassurance, but where could a weary Luke go for comfort?

Now he knew where Luke hoped to find solace—but Han had lived too much of his life as a citadel of self-protection; rejecting intimacy and camouflaging his feelings beneath multiple layers of defensive, ironic humor. Sometimes Lando wondered about the need for such a masquerade—and most especially about the source of that defensiveness. 

He doubted Luke would ever make open and specific demands of Han, but Luke was almost frightening in his intensity. He threw himself completely into everything he did and Lando was sure he had the same approach to love. Surely Han had to know that, had to know that Luke’s expectations would be extraordinarily high. Han’s romance with the princess hadn’t worked out—was he ready to tackle the even more challenging Jedi?

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

Lando realized Han had stopped at the top of the stairs and caught him staring thoughtfully. _Last night I figured you were wondering if I was good enough for Luke, now I’m wondering if you’re good enough. But I don’t suppose that’d be the smartest thing for me to say right now._

Puffing a little with exertion and trying not to show it because their relationship had always had a competitive edge to it, he nodded toward Han’s belt.

“Just wondering why you’re not using that comlink I see hanging on your belt, if you’re so damned worried about Chewie.”

There. That’ll give me two seconds to catch my breath while he decides whether to laugh or throw a punch.

Han snorted, eyeing him with an expression which clearly conveyed the Corellian’s awareness of the distracting technique. “Because it’s too easily monitored. Rothu had his hands on it long enough to figure out our frequency and security codes.”

He still wondered just how, in all that confusion in the PonSec building, Han had ever managed to retrieve his own possessions—but that was the luck of the Corellians. They were famous for being lucky, as well as for those passionate natures and vendettas.

And he had a feeling at least one Corellian was going to be famous for capturing the heart of the last Jedi, too.

With a wink and a grin for Lando, Han leaned over the banister and looked down. “Luke, you think you’ll get up here any time this millennium?” Han pitched his voice low, with the obvious expectation that Luke’s super-sensitive hearing would pick up the comment.

Sure, go ahead and rub it in, Han, ol’ buddy.

Although it had been a nicely pre-emptive strike on Han’s part, neatly claiming his position as the man-in-charge. Lando wondered what it said about his changing priorities, that such moves no longer threatened his ego the way they once had. 

Luke looked up from his position nearly a full flight of stairs below, where he was using the Force to levitate Artoo up the stairs. Good gods, but he looked young and vulnerable like that, and incredibly beautiful, too. Lando heard Han catch his breath and knew they were making the same connections.

“Artoo and I can still leave you here, you know,” Luke threatened, entirely too playfully for Lando’s preference. 

Stop being so damned jealous, he commanded himself, and wasn’t a bit surprised when his gut refused to obey.

“I’ll scout ahead,” he muttered, feeling the need to escape from the charged looks arcing between Han and Luke. And maybe they’d want a moment’s privacy anyway. Not that he was charitably disposed at the moment, but he didn’t care to witness another sizzling kiss.

Wasn’t that he wanted Luke for himself, at least not the way Han did. But seeing the ease with which Han assumed a central position in Luke’s affections only underscored his own inability to bridge the distance between himself and Luke. 

If there was one thing Lando Calrissian wasn’t comfortable doing, it was admitting failure.

By the time Han, Luke and Artoo joined him, he’d already bypassed the lock on the door leading to Cleres’ offices. Some of the old skills hadn’t deserted him entirely, he was pleased to note.

“Thanks, Lando.” Luke flashed a smile as he entered the office, and one quick glance confirmed his suspicions: Luke was definitely sporting a flushed, just-been-kissed-breathless look, while Han appeared… smug. And more than a little disheveled, like someone’s fingers had been playing in his hair.

Artoo went right to work, plugging into an interface outlet and chirping softly to himself every few seconds. Han headed straight to the companel to contact Chewie and that left Lando and Luke staring at each other. Almost uncomfortably.

He wished he had some mechanical task to occupy himself right now, in order to avoid what would surely be a most awkward conversation. 

“So you ‘n Han—”

“Lando, I—”

He and Luke spoke at the same instant, voices overlapping, and broke off again at the same instant. 

He laughed, a little self-consciously and tried to fill the abrupt silence. “So it was Han all this time? And here I was thinking it was Leia.” He wasn’t entirely sure if Luke’s heightened color was still due to whatever had happened in the stairwell, or if the Jedi were blushing a little.

Luke shook his head. “I suppose most people have that impression—that I’m carrying a torch for Leia.” He seemed a little amused by the idea. “But it’s far from the truth. I think of her as… a sister.”

Although he’d only thrown Leia’s name out as a quick ruse to disguise his own feelings, the way Luke hesitated over his choice of words reminded him of a similar difficulty back in the tunnel. It implied a secret significance to his expressed thought. Behind him, Lando heard Han’s chuckle and he guessed the Corellian was privy to the subtext.

Not that it mattered. He’d recognized long ago he was out of this particular loop.

“I’m still not sure why you misled Han about our relationship, though. The gossip wasn’t enough?”

Well, Luke, if you can’t figure it out on your own, I’m sure not gonna help you.

Actually seemed rather funny that Luke, for all his insight and intelligence, couldn’t figure out such a simple little matter.

Damned if he’d betray his feelings, because pity wasn’t anything he needed or wanted, especially from these two.

“Like I said, Han leaped to some conclusions.”

“Encouraged by you.” Luke neither looked nor sounded particularly forgiving, with his arms folded across his chest and a sharp note in his voice.

He shrugged, aiming for snubbed honesty. “It was a joke, Luke.” 

Luke studied him intently. “A joke?”

“Sure. Payback for Han scaring the half-life outta me. Never occurred to me it’d be such a big deal.” That much was certainly true. 

“I don’t—”

“Maybe it was a little out of line,” he admitted, softening Luke up. “But how was I to know? It turned out to be a good thing in the end. Brought you two together, and that’s what you wanted in the long run.”

Best defense is always a good offense.

The methodology had worked for the Rebel Alliance, after all.

Han snorted but said nothing. 

Although Luke shook his head, a smile started in his eyes and twitched the corners of his lips. “Somehow I don’t think that was your original intention.”

He grinned back. “Maybe not. But as long as you got the results you wanted… ”

The smile broke out and washed across Luke’s face with the brilliance of starshine. “I have the feeling I shouldn’t let you get away with this—”

The small pressure change of air being displaced as the office door opened gave them only a second’s warning that someone had entered.

“What are you doing here?” demanded an angry voice.

Cleres. Didn’t the guy ever sleep? He looked quite fresh and energized now, in contrast to their weary, grimy appearances.

“What is the meaning of this illegal activity, Jedi Skywalker?” Cleres scowled as he glanced over at Artoo, humming contentedly and still connected to the interface. “Tell your droid to disconnect from my computer immediately.”

Luke nodded. “Artoo, you heard Elder Cleres.” 

The shift from blushing, love-struck youth to composed Jedi was almost startling, and Lando wondered if Cleres had caught the transformation, too.

“We were just going to contact you, Elder, to bring some new information to your attention,” he interjected smoothly, drawing the administrator’s attention away from Luke and Artoo. Behind him Han had melted into the shadows, no doubt hoping to remain unnoticed.

“Indeed? Did you think I would override Prefect Rothu’s authority in your foolish attempt to rescue your accomplice?”

So Rothu had notified Cleres already. Lando’s heart slammed into his ribs and rebounded sharply. He’d hoped to get to Cleres first with their version of what had happened, so the elder would listen with as open a mind as possible.

“I fail to understand your participation in this, Jedi Skywalker.”

Lando interpreted Cleres’ expression as hovering somewhere between disappointment and confusion.

“We have some evidence we hoped you would review.”

“If you have evidence, it should be presented to the Prefect of Security, not to me. I’m a member of the legislative branch of our government, not law enforcement.”

“The evidence concerns Prefect Rothu.”

Lando had to give Cleres full points for courage. He wasn’t cowering or running for help, despite the fact he was facing someone (or perhaps several someones) he considered possible murderers. He could describe Cleres as contentious, rude and arrogant, but cowardly sure didn’t apply. 

The crackle of an open com frequency drew Cleres’ attention and Lando knew the Pontradan would quickly draw an appropriate conclusion. It didn’t take long; an instant later Cleres pointed over Lando’s shoulder. “You. Corellian. Come here.”

Yeah, the Pontradan definitely knew how to wield power and authority, because Han stepped forward, a small lopsided smile quirking his mouth.

“Name’s Solo. Han Solo.”

The com connection Han had been attempting suddenly went through and Chewbacca’s throaty bass rumble boomed into the tense silence.

“Your Wookiee companion?” surmised Cleres. “Why don’t you invite him to join us? That way Prefect Rothu won’t have to waste his time searching for him.” The Elder surveyed the room briskly. “Where’s the other droid?”

Han shrugged. “On his way here with Chewie. With some evidence about what happened tonight—” He glanced out the window and amended his statement “—last night you’ll wanna hear.” Cleres obviously wasn’t intimidating Han at all. “They were tryin’ to get hold of you, tell you to meet us.”

Cleres lifted an eyebrow, expressing disbelief, and glanced at Luke. “Is this true? You sent the Wookiee to summon me?”

Luke nodded silently. 

The Pontradan locked eyes briefly with Han, as if taking his measure, then Cleres crossed to his desk and gestured to the chairs grouped around it. 

I guess I’m invisible again, Lando groused to himself.

“Sit. I will hear your evidence, but you must understand I am obligated to pass everything you tell me to Prefect Rothu.”

At least they had the opening they needed. All he had to do now was convince Cleres.

Lando was tired and shaky enough that he took the proffered seat, not caring if it surrendered control over the proceedings to Cleres. The power games were beginning to lose their allure for him anyway. Luke also sat, probably in a gesture of conciliation and courtesy, but Han remained defiantly standing.

After a moment’s reflection to order his arguments, Lando began. Knowing that Cleres would be swayed by a bare recitation of the facts far more than rhetoric, he spoke simply, holding his emotions in tight check. Han paced impatiently as Lando detailed the night’s activities but Luke remained impassive and attentive, occasionally tossing a warning glance over his shoulder toward Han.

Lando wished mightily he had eyes in the back of his head, to see the kind of reaction those reproving looks prompted. 

Those black, black eyes stared impassively at him, neither encouraging nor discouraging, and Lando realized he couldn’t predict which way Cleres was going to jump. He finished up his explanation and waited for a telling response of some kind.

Again Cleres looked to Luke for confirmation. “Is this true, Jedi Skywalker? Your word as a Jedi?”

Not that Pontradans had ever set much store by Jedi honor to begin with, but the Elder was astute enough to know Luke held himself to rigid ethical standards.

“It is,” Luke admitted. “Everything Ambassador Calrissian has told you is as it happened.”

“And that is why you authorized the theft of private records?”

Lando was aware of Han’s abrupt movement behind him, quickly checked, and saw Luke’s lips tighten into a firm line. “I didn’t authorize it. Artoo has a history of independent action.”

Cleres shot a swift glance at Artoo. “Unprecedented in a droid of Pontradan manufacture.”

A little smile played around Luke’s mouth; Lando noted that Han’s gaze lingered on that mouth just a shade longer than most people would find reasonable.

“Artoo is pretty unique by anybody’s standards.”

Cleres swiveled his chair around to stare out the window while he considered his options. Lando tracked the motion then looked back at Han and Luke just in time to see Han trace the outline of Luke’s mouth with his right index finger.

This could prove downright embarrassing if Cleres turned around and caught these two in the act. Fortunately, by the time Cleres swung around to face them again, Han had retreated a safe distance from Luke, as if only by putting space between them would he be able to keep his hands off the younger man.

“I have difficulty giving your allegations any credence. I’ve known Rothu Temlo for many turns and he is as loyal a son of Pont Gollo as anyone could ask. He has served long and faithfully and been a model, law-abiding citizen. He has never permitted politics to interfere with his work, not even under Imperial rule.”

Lando knew he was going to get burned for this suggestion, but he had to say it anyway. “If you would just listen to some of these log records—”

“These records were not legally obtained and without the owner’s permission I will not hear them.” 

Not a hint of what this might mean to Cleres personally, or to the Accord and his hopes for Pontradan admission to the New Republic, crossed his face. It occurred to Lando that, in his own way, Cleres was as honorable and ethical an individual as Luke.

The Elder tapped a finger against his pursed lips. “But this is a highly awkward situation, and I’m afraid our news and gossip grids are most efficient. Prefect Rothu must be given the opportunity to counter your accusations or his honor and career could suffer damage. With your consent I will ask him to join us.”

Han lunged forward so aggressively Lando thought he was going to grab Cleres by his neat lapels and shake him, but all he did was place both hands flat on the desk and go nose-to-nose with the Pontradan. Cleres didn’t so much as twitch, only stared fearlessly back at Han.

Lando gave an involuntary shiver at the thought of looking into those disconcerting eyes at such close range.

“Sounds to me like an excuse to throw us back in jail and forget the lock code.”

“Physical violence will only help the case against you, Captain, not for you.”

“Release Elder Cleres or suffer the consequences, Corellian!”

Sith! Rothu. Where’d he come from?

As Lando turned toward the door, he caught a glimpse of Luke’s startled expression. The prefect’s sudden appearance had even taken a Jedi by surprise—concentrating on Han to the exclusion of everything else, no doubt, Lando thought disgustedly.

Two armed guards appeared in the doorway behind Rothu, weapons leveled. Lando could see several more guards littering the reception area. Han eased back slowly, keeping his hands in plain sight.

“Are you unharmed, Elder?”

“I am. I actually wasn’t in any danger, Prefect. Captain Solo was merely emphasizing a discussion point.”

Emphasizing a discussion point. Huh! He had to give Cleres double points for coolness under stress. Couldn’t have been easy to watch somebody twice his size and obviously angry come at him.

“Thank you, Elder, for detaining these criminals. Once the lobby guard called in a report of a large, suspicious creature trying to gain access to this building I thought perhaps the Wookiee was trying to join his compatriots.”

The quick rankle of irritation at being called a criminal was swallowed up by the hot wave of fear that clutched at his belly.

“Chewie!” Han tensed up again, and Lando thought the only thing that kept Han from launching himself at Rothu was Luke’s restraining hand on his arm. “If you’ve hurt him—”

Chewie wouldn’t have gone easily, of that Lando was positive. Especially not if he were trying to protect Risco, their sole witness to Han’s innocence.

One of the guards laughed as he moved in closer to disarm them, a low, ugly sound. “He’ll have a few sore spots when he wakes up.”

Han made a strangled sound deep in his throat, very similar to one of Chewie’s ruder rumbles. Lando wasn’t entirely certain, but he thought Han had just insulted the guard’s ancestry and religious convictions.

If Chewie was down and out, what had happened to Threepio and Risco?

“Guards, escort the prisoners back to the detention center and prepare for immediate transport to the maximum security facility. I’ll take no more chances with them.”

Cleres held up a hand in a delaying gesture. “A moment of your time first, Temlo. If you would, please, ask the guard detail to wait in my outer office.”

Rothu’s expression was so outraged as to be humorous. “I will not!”

Luke spoke soothingly, accompanied by a familiar, small hand motion. “There is no harm in hearing what the Elder has to say. The guards will wait in the other room.”

Rothu blinked and nodded his head. “A few moments won’t hurt. Troopers, wait in the outer room.”

The guards exchanged bewildered looks and stepped back, closing the door behind them. 

My, what a handy trick that is. But I’m none too sure that was the smartest thing you could’ve done just now, Luke.

“Thank you for agreeing, Temlo.” Cleres looked hard at Luke. “Ambassador Calrissian has just related his version of what happened tonight in the security center, and has made some rather disturbing allegations in connection with those events. Were you able to retrieve any visual recordings during the period of power failure?”

“No, Nysos, the failure was complete. Even our backup systems were shut down. What disturbing allegations?”

“I thought the systems were specifically designed to avoid that problem.”

Rothu looked over at Luke and spoke slowly and thoughtfully, as if an idea had just occurred to him. “They were. But deliberate sabotage could explain that. The stun gas canisters were triggered while the power grids were off.”

Like we didn’t see that one coming? First rule of betrayal—always have fallback plans.

Between Luke and Lando, Han blew out his breath explosively at Rothu’s implication and took a threatening step forward before Luke yanked him back.

Rothu aimed his blaster at Han.

“Watch where you point that thing,” Han muttered, but let Luke pull him into position close to his side.

Where he belongs. Now where did that thought come from?

“Again, I ask what kind of allegations have been made?”

“That you conspired to commit murder of both New Republic and Pontradan citizens, and that you deliberately arranged to place the blame elsewhere, for political motives.”

Rothu laughed and Lando had to admire the fellow’s aplomb. He was trying to decide if duplicity was a natural ability for all Pontradans, or if he’d merely encountered some exceptional specimens when Rothu spoke again.

“Whatever kind of lies these criminals say, I wouldn’t believe any of it, Nysos. Especially that wizard Jedi. They’re obviously only trying to avoid their due punishment.”

Cleres nodded. “That’s the likeliest explanation, of course, but it’s difficult to imagine their motivations.”

“Outsiders are always difficult to predict, Elder, but their actions speak to their motives. This New Republic is no better than the Empire. They deceive us with pretty lies, bring their Jedi sorcerer to cloud our minds and then take what they want. They flout our laws and use our people for their own purposes.”

Rothu’s scorn had betrayed him, Lando saw in an instant, when Cleres’ expression tightened. 

“They claim to have evidence to prove their statement. Perhaps we should hear it, Temlo.” Although the words were courteous, Cleres’ command was unmistakable. Reminded Lando of that moment in the conference room when he’d called for a final vote on the proposal.

Rothu frowned. “Evidence?”

“Confidential records from your office terminal.”

Rothu made a choking sound; the wildly contorted expression on the prefect’s face made Lando shiver. The guy was a hairsbreadth away from killing them all in that instant, their futures poised on the Pontradan’s dubious self-control. He shifted his weight and tensed up for action—any kind required—and knew without looking that Han and Luke had done the same. They wouldn’t go down without a fight, that was for sure. Let Han and Luke handle Rothu, he’d fling himself across the table to protect Cleres because the way things were looking now, Cleres was their only ticket off this planet.

But Rothu contained his rage. “You see what they truly are, then. Liars, thieves and murderers. They will stop at nothing to achieve their goals of total domination. We invite them to our world with open arms and this is how they repay our generosity!”

“But they have raised some issues which must be addressed quickly, before the grids catch scent of them. Will you authorize releasing random—”

Rothu’s chin jutted angrily, a stubborn, almost child-like warning sign. “I will not! Not even to you. My confidential files are just that: confidential, dealing with aspects of my official responsibilities and are not subject to public review.”

Cleres nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “If that is your decision, there’s nothing I can do.” He glanced significantly at Luke and his companions.

Almost like he’s asking for some kind of intervention. But Lando simply couldn’t summon anything to mind fast enough.

Artoo whistled shrilly, demanding attention and then rattled off a rapid series of rather agitated sounding tweets and hoots.

Han snorted at Luke’s intent expression and whispered to Lando, “How much you wanna bet the tin can’s gonna save our skins?”

“No takers here, Han,” he whispered back, grinning.

Luke looked up. “Artoo says he has additional information to present which would not betray any confidential or official matters. It’s something he directly observed and recorded.”

That feral, dangerous gleam was back in Rothu’s eyes, and Lando was reminded of a Dantooine teslat, just before it attacked its prey. And he’s got the only blaster in the room.

Han was edging around the chairs, probably readying himself for a direct attack on Rothu.

Cleres seized the opportunity, eyeing Rothu cautiously. “Display your recording, droid.”

Ten seconds later all hell broke loose—again. Artoo projected a hologram onto Cleres’ desk, Rothu fired his blaster at the droid, and suddenly everybody was in motion.

Lando felt a shock course through his bones like a lightning strike. Damnit! They were all about to be served up to Rothu’s personal brand of justice. He’d known he couldn’t keep one step ahead of the law forever; another reason he’d shifted courses in mid-life. Not that it was such a big deal for him, but he sure as all hells regretted taking everybody else with him. Especially Han and Luke, when they were on the verge of—

His heart pounded out a syncopated rhythm in counterpoint to his morbid thoughts, the room whirled around him, and the next thing he knew somebody was picking him up off the floor.

And laughing. Had to be Han.

“Huh? Wha’ happened?” 

“Have a nice nap?” Yep, definitely Han.

“Are you all right, Lando?” That was Luke, on his other side. “Can you sit up?”

“Sure.” He struggled to an upright position and clutched Luke’s arm when the nausea hit. “Whew! What happened?”

“Rothu blasted Artoo, and that discharged his electrical system. And you---”

“Got caught in the discharge nimbus.” Of course. Why would he expect anything else? He glanced over at the droid, hunkered down quietly, looking a little charred around the seams but still functional.

“You were a good distraction, though, Lando. Rothu wasn’t expecting you to fall on top of him. Gave us a chance to overpower him.” Han, of course, not in the least repentant of enjoying Lando’s situation.

Now that his vision had cleared and he was up in the chair, he could see Rothu cuffed to another chair with his own wrist binders, and guarded by a blaster-toting Cleres. The door to the outer office remained closed and it occurred to Lando there must be some mighty good soundproofing if blaster fire hadn’t brought Rothu’s troops at a run.

“Ah, Ambassador. My apologies for yet another indignity suffered at Pontradan hands.”

Rothu snarled something obscene in guttural Low Pontrashi but Lando didn’t bother to try to translate it.

“Before I call in the guards to take the prefect into custody, I want to view some of these confidential files your droid obtained. Now that there is sufficient cause to suspect criminal, even treasonous, action on the prefect’s part, any such records are considered admissible under Pontradan law.”

“Sufficient cause?” Obviously he’d missed something while napping on the floor.

“Artoo recorded that entire confrontation in Rothu’s office. We watched it while you were out.”

Now he was really glad he hadn’t taken Han’s bet.

“Go ahead, Artoo,” Luke encouraged. “Let’s see what you have.”

The records were damning to Rothu, just as Lando had expected and he caught himself wondering why Rothu had been so careless to keep such incriminating evidence.

The prefect’s com log detailed conversations between Rothu, Muya and Campion, marking the extent of the conspiracy to derail the Accord and restore political supremacy to the Separatist movement. Additionally, the protected personal files they randomly selected to play clearly profiled Rothu’s even less appealing private plans—to rid himself of his accomplices and levy the blame on Cleres.

“Artoo, play the last entry Rothu made in his protected log.” The droid instantly obeyed his master’s request.

Playing a hunch, Luke? Lando glanced at Luke and realized Han had drawn in close, standing behind Luke and resting both hands on his shoulders. 

“… Muya Sadika’s faith in the intelligence and foresight of our citizens is her greatest failing,” Rothu’s voice stated. “Unlike her, I cannot trust our people to know what is in their best interests. Too many years under the Empire’s rule has sapped us of our initiative. Muya’s confession today only proves this—she is infected with this same lack. She confirmed she failed to achieve our goal through political means and that acceptance of the Accord within the next few days is inevitable. She promises to continue her efforts through further legislation, but I doubt her ability now. She is not strong enough to guide our people. We need a bold leader, one with proper values who is willing to command and not compromise. I’ve come to the conclusion that I must do this myself and have notified Campion to put our secondary plan into motion. I must remember to leave offerings to the gods for sending this Corellian smuggler our way. One should never ignore divine intervention.”

Divine intervention. So that’s it. Rothu is delusional on top of everything else. That probably explained why he’d maintained all those logs—he’d been documenting historical decisions for future generations. 

Han chuckled, the sound incongruous in the aftermath of revelation. “I don’t think your gods liked you very much, if I was the answer to your prayers.”

The wry comment drew an answering smile from Cleres. “Perhaps not our gods.” Lando could see the Elder take note of Han’s protective posture over Luke, flick a quick glance in his own direction and come to the obvious conclusion. “But I think perhaps this Force of yours likes you very much.”

* * * * *

Lando watched the last of the porter droids trundle down the access ramp of the _Lady Luck_ and sank back into a well-cushioned lounge chair with a sigh of relief. Unpacking could wait for a while; right now he needed a drink. Maybe several drinks.

But he didn’t stir from his seat and instead just looked around the lounge with an immense feeling of mingled pride and security. Actually he was a little surprised at how grateful he was to be on board his own ship again; it felt like coming home.

He was tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally. The kind of tired that meant nothing less than the privacy and reassurance of one’s own home would do. _Lady Luck_ might not be his home, but she was as close as he’d gotten since Cloud City. Peace and quiet wrapped around him, warm and comforting like a thick, soft blanket…

He’d spent the last hour on the _Millennium Falcon,_ helping Han, Chewie and Luke ensure the spaceworthiness of the battered freighter. The Wookiee had been adamant on inspecting every circuit and function with the possessive attention to detail one usually reserved for newborn infants. He supposed he couldn’t blame Chewie or Han for their concern; those Pontradan troopers hadn’t treated the old lady very gently during their search and seizure procedures. From the cockpit where he manned the controls Lando had watched the others swarm over the hull and later, listened to the banging and clanging while they worked on the inside maintenance bays.

No, he hadn’t minded being offered the easy chair this time around; considered it his due, in fact. Normally they’d waste precious time squabbling in a competitive frenzy over who got the soft job, with the loser sitting in the cockpit, but he’d gotten the worst end of the last two days and was quite ready to take it slow. Besides, the solitude had given him a little time to sort through some of his feelings and reactions to recent events. 

Not only that, the pilot’s chair had afforded him a front-row seat to Han’s wistful, longing expression every time the Corellian glanced over at Luke. And the joyfully eager looks he received in return.

The day’s events would probably stay with him for a long time—not just Han and Luke releasing their passion, their love—but everything else as well. How the representatives had squirmed uncomfortably at the long table in Cleres’ office while they watched the holos and vids, especially Muya Sadika. He’d felt for her, then, as the blood drained from her face until the only way he’d known she was still alive were those wounded black eyes. The hard, lost expression on her face when she’d silently written out that bill of sale for Han’s cargo, exonerating him from the only remaining concern, the only apology she could offer.

His profound satisfaction in seeing Rothu hauled off to his own detention facility and charged with half a dozen major crimes had been undone by his first glimpse of Chewie, unconscious in his cell, fur matted with sticky blood from what fortunately proved to be a minor gash. Watching Han waver between murderous rage toward Rothu and tender solicitude toward his partner had certainly been an unnerving moment, not one he cared to repeat. For a moment he’d wondered if they might end up saddled with another attempted murder charge, before Han’s innate loyalty and practicality overwhelmed that infamous Corellian tradition of vendetta. 

He’d been mildly relieved that Cleres and the new prefect took Luke’s recommendations to heart and reduced the charges against Risco to minor infractions. Hell, maybe he’d end up getting that statue anyway—just not posthumously. Which had to be an improvement any way you looked at it.

The biggest issue of the day had been finding Threepio and Risco; a worrisome detail that had to wait on Chewbacca’s recovery. Of course, once they’d been found, rather late in the day, Threepio hadn’t hesitated to enumerate the multitude of inconveniences he’d suffered while ‘protecting’ his charge; finally Han and Lando resorted to gleeful comments regarding droid dismemberment within Threepio’s auditory range. Miraculously, the litany of complaints had quickly ceased.

That had probably been the high point of his day, now that he thought about it. Except for the hastily arranged public announcement and conference with representatives of the local news grids, carefully scripted into a masterpiece of obfuscation and misdirection. Lando considered it one of his finest performances to date. He closed his eyes to savor the memory… and inevitably drifted into that nebulous state between asleep and awake. From somewhere far off he heard Han and Luke’s voices.

_“ …’n after a while I just didn’t know what to say, kid. How could I just pop back into your life after six months an’ say, oh by the way, I made a mistake. I finally figured out it wasn’t your sister I wanted after all. It was you.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Because… hell, just because.”_

_“It’s strange, Han, I always thought you stayed because of Leia—and then you left because of your nature. Because freedom has always been the only truth you recognized. And not even love can hold a free spirit.”_

_“That’s not—”_

_“And then today I found out it was me, always me. I—”_

_“Kinda turned everything upside down for ya, didn’t I?”_

_“You did that a long time ago, Han.”_

_“Hells, I’m sorry. It took me a while to figure things out and by then I figured it was too late.”_

_“This from the man who swore he had no regrets in life?”_

_“Yeah. How ‘bout that?”_

_“I don’t understand. You left because of me. Why couldn’t you come back because of me?”_

_“I dunno. I just couldn’t.”_

_“You were scared”_

_“Maybe. Just goes to prove how wrong you are.”_

_“Wrong? Han, wrong about what?”_

_“ ‘bout freedom bein’ the only truth I know.”_

_“It isn’t?”_

_“No. You are, Luke.”_

“Lando, you asleep at the controls?” Han nudged his foot.

Now he had one more thing to blame Han for. “Leave me alone, friend. You’ve caused me enough trouble for one lifetime.” He opened one reluctant eye and glared at the Corellian before heaving himself to his feet. “Ready to do the pre-flight?”

Luke swiveled his lounge chair around to face him. “Look out the porthole, Lando,” he suggested. “We left Pont Gollo orbit an hour ago, on course for Corellia.”

It took a moment for the words to percolate through Lando’s exhaustion-fogged brain. The landslide of weeks of unremitting pressure, sleepless nights and the last day had settled with full impact, and he simply had no more physical or mental reserves to draw upon.

“Well, I guess you’d better get over to the _Falcon_ then, Han. Chewie’s probably wondering where you are by now.”

Han’s condescending grin told him far better than any words just how inane his comment had sounded. 

“Chewie’s halfway to Kashyyyk by now.”

Luke’s grin perhaps wasn’t quite as condescending, but still amused. And damned if he wasn’t wearing that just-been-kissed look again. Although now that he thought about it, so was Han. “We’ve been sitting here talking for the past hour over your snores, Lando.”

A vague recollection of their voices talking about love and freedom and… sisters? drifted across the wasteland that resembled his brain at the moment, but he couldn’t summon the energy to chase the memory.

Threepio tottered in from the narrow forward passage with a metallic clatter that set his teeth on edge. “Dinner is ready, Master Luke. Oh, Master Lando, you’re finally awake! I’ve moved your things into the largest guest cabin and prepared the bed for you. You should be quite comfortable in there during the voyage.”

Now that effectively vacuumed a few cobwebs from Lando’s mind. He glared at Threepio. “What? Why did you move my things out of my cabin?”

Han crossed his arms in a cheerfully challenging manner. “’Cause I told him to, right, Goldenrod?”

“Er, yes, sir, Captain Solo.”

Lando had the feeling he was missing something that was obvious to everyone else. His thoughts still retained the muddled disorder of exhaustion and the sense that something precious had slipped through his fingers unheeded.

A look passed between Han and Luke, the kind of silent communication Lando had occasionally fantasized he would one day share with Luke; the kind that comes only from synchronization of souls and alignment of purpose. And that ship had already cleared atmosphere without him. 

Damn Han’s arrogance. “Why?”

“Because your cabin has the biggest bed.”

“I think Master Lando needs to go to bed,” Threepio suggested helpfully.

“I think Luke ‘n I need to go to bed, too,” muttered Han.

“But I’ve prepared a wonderful dinner!”

Oh great. Han gets Luke and I get the consolation prize—dinner with Threepio. Who’s probably put ground glass into my meal because I threatened to deactivate him.

Suddenly Artoo was underfoot as well, squealing out his own indecipherable defense of his counterpart’s efforts and generally getting in the way.

“Well, I’m starved, Threepio,” Luke announced, patting the droid on his shoulder and reducing Han to simultaneous glowering.

“You would be.” But Han didn’t quite pull off the disgruntled act—the grin gave him away. “Let’s go eat. It better be edible, Threepio, or you’re in big trouble.”

Luke shook his head at Han. “You’ll never learn, will you?” he teased affectionately. “If you complain about his cooking then he’ll refuse to do it anymore, and we’ll be pulling kitchen patrol.”

Lando couldn’t help but snicker at Han’s sheepish expression, then instantly thought better of his reaction when Han turned and pointed a finger at him.

Sith! He’d learned long ago to cover his head when Han Solo smiled like that.

“Told you I wasn’t quite through with you, Lando.” Han pulled a small, greasy object from his pocket and waggled it gleefully.

Warily, he took the bait. “What is that?” He squinted, trying to identify the object before Han dropped it back in his pocket.

“The hyperdrive accelerator linkage pin.”

“Han!” So maybe he wasn’t the galactic expert on mechanical things, but he did know that without the damned linkage pin his twin hyperdrive engines wouldn’t push the _Lady Luck_ any further than point one past lightspeed. And that meant a… very long voyage back to Corellia.

He hoped they had enough consumables to last the entire trip.

* * * * *

A few hours later Lando Calrissian lay on his bunk, fretfully cursing the sleep that continued to elude him, and tried not to listen to the muffled sounds emanating from the adjacent cabin. His cabin, damnit. He shifted restlessly as a particularly loud burst of laughter was quickly hushed. And decided as soon as he had adequate funds he would re-soundproof the captain’s cabin. Maybe he’d ask Cleres who’d soundproofed his office.

He heard another laugh, lower this time, accompanied by the murmur of conversation. All hells, just what were they doing in there anyway? _Talking?_ He’d expected to spend the night doomed to eavesdrop on Han and Luke’s lovemaking—wasn’t that why Han had commandeered the captain’s cabin in the first place? And they’d done that, in fact—with considerable enthusiasm as far as he could tell. But this! This was torture of the worst kind. Further evidence of the distance between his fantasy and his reality.

Typically subversive of Han, he decided, to be so contrary. Flouting convention by talking instead of falling asleep.

Lando pulled his pillow over his head in a feeble attempt to block out further noise. He would definitely have to consider suing the previous owner of the yacht for misrepresentation. Privacy guaranteed, my Wookiee’s fur!

Delusional. He must’ve been delusional to ever imagine Luke Skywalker was uninterested in physical or emotional intimacy. And Han… hell, the man hadn’t been running away from Leia or responsibility or anything else. He’d been running toward a truth he was afraid to admit to himself.

The moment condensed down to that simple kernel of truth. He tried to breathe around the slicing edge of reality twisting in his chest.

A truth he’d have plenty of time to get used to…

Oh, gods, but it was going to be a long voyage back to Corellia.


End file.
